


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by legendarytobes



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Devil face, Fuck You Pete, Gen, Torture, Violence, Whump, devil bod, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendarytobes/pseuds/legendarytobes
Summary: Michael bumps into one of his brother's pets while serving out his exile in L.A. What he didn't expect was Ella Lopez's crippling fear and the enticing offer to torture Pete on her behalf.Based on a prompt from FH and DifferenceEngineGirl:Michael and Lucifer put aside their differences and team up for one purpose and one purpose only: punishing Pete for what he did to Ella. Little does Pete know, but the Archangel is so much worse than the Devil...
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar & Ella Lopez, Michael Demiurgos & Lucifer Morningstar, ella lopez & michael demiurgos
Comments: 131
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant through 5a. I don't know anything about the back half of the season so just spec afterwards.

It wasn’t being wingless that bothered Michael. To be fair, while his eyesore of a right wing would make do in a pinch, he didn’t fly much before Father grounded him. It wasn’t the exile from the Silver City, either. The place had turned his stomach---the short memories of the Host---and the foolishness of his siblings overall for months now. To see them, even Remiel who used to talk sense, fawn over his idiot twin for just _once_ doing the bare minimum after all the carnage Samael had caused was beyond infuriating.

He didn’t need to return back there and watch half of the angels fawn over Samael’s so-called new found sense of responsibility and the rest over his insipid relationship with that detective of his. Chloe Decker, who, alright, there’d been a moment with that attention and the thought that for just _once_ someone liked him better, but whom Michael had loathed since she pumped him full of lead.

Really, four times was just overkill. Waste of the bullets even.

But above all things, he hated how even _Father_ had failed to see Samael for what he was---the betrayer, the one whose Rebellion had upset all of heaven, ruined their parents’ marriage, and left more than just Samael damned to Fall all the way to Hell. And yet, that was just prologue. No one ever mentioned or cared about his own right side, ruined by his twin in such a massive fight. It seemed as if few cared that for whatever his reasons (and mostly selfish for his pet human again), Sam had eradicated Uriel from existence with Azrael’s blade.

Oh, and as if releasing Mother into the multiverse---even if she had her own, new universe created for her---would be a safe idea in the long run.

But the Lightbringer, even now, got what he want and as often as he wanted it. Okay. Not _quite_ everything. Michael was not going to create revisionist history, and Hell was a punishment. But it was one his twin was supposed to be relegated to _forever_ , not just slip from, find the present Father made him, and live happily ever after with the Host cheering him and his detective on.

As if Rebellion could just be forgotten.

As if _shattering_ their family could be forgiven.

Or ruining him, not that anyone ever noticed that.

So, no, having no wings at all was only a half-measure worse than having defective wings, and he had zero interest in being back home. It hadn’t felt like that since the Rebellion, and it _certainly_ didn’t feel like that now with all the sheep snowed by the Devil’s apparent contrition.

But not Michael.

He knew Samael better than anyone. He’d made the very fabric of the multiverse with him, back when it had just really been them out doing Father’s bidding, Creation and Will, equal yet opposite. And it probably had taken three times longer than even Dad had foreseen because Sam couldn’t keep his focus sharp at all.

So, eventually, Sam would tire of his detective. He would return to his useless, hedonistic ways, and the Silver City would see exactly as Michael did with the Devil. His mistake was trying to rush the timeline in his anger, his pain, and his bitterness.

After all, Samael had always been the most gifted when it came to fucking up his own life.

But, yes, being wingless was as it was. It was not great problem for Michael. All the rest of his angelic powers were still his (though he had not Created in literal eons as Creation without Will was hollow). Yet, as the humans said, here he was all dressed up and no place to go. In theory, Earth was a large place. Dad had grounded him, not exiled him to a specific corner of it.

There had to be something especially pathetic in Michael staying around Los Angeles. He could put enough means together to be in any city and in any country…and yet he couldn’t bear to leave Samael and Amenadiel’s turf.

He couldn’t explain it even to himself.

There would be no rematches. He’d had 2-on-1 with Samael and Amenadiel in the police precinct, and, honestly, had almost been on the ropes even before Dad showed up. Sans his wings and with a contrite Maze having defected back to the Devil (and demon loyalty only ever got so far, didn’t it), Michael couldn’t hope to take them now. But he still couldn’t leave.

Truth of the matter was, he had nowhere to go.

Not that his brothers or their human pets would be happy to see him either. It was more that he wasn’t sure what to do next with his life, and Los Angeles seemed as good a place as any to flounder. Dad knew more than the world’s fair share of humans did that too, all under the supposed auspices of one day becoming famous.

When most of those dreams would never happen.

But it was that lack of grounding, that utter lack of any thought of what to do and where to go that left him rudderless. If Samael ran on desire and it made him hedonistic in his daily life, well, the Sword of God ran on fear and was higher strung than he wanted to let on to others. It was hard enough to deal with his own fears that lanced through him constantly when he didn’t have to add “zero clue about the rest of eternity” on his plate.

Time was stretching out before him---formless as the void he and Samael had first tamed.

And the best thing the Sword of God, Defender of the Church, and the Great Judge had come up with to entertain himself was finding outlets to release his power. He couldn’t drain his control over fear. He could never be rid of it, and Father would never take a so-called gift that punished so well away from Michael either. There were no reprieves, not for him. But if he used his ability on humans (or sometimes his siblings back in Heaven and when he was truly desperate), then Michael could feel less for a time.

Never better.

No, he was never _not_ riled up.

But he could let his gift out on others and feel for a few hours, maybe even a day, like he could concentrate again, like the voices that haunted him were finally quiet. So that was why he’d come to _Comics Planet_ to just let a bit of that fear out. Nothing massive. He’d learned over the years that when he came to earth, sometimes he overused his abilities. On his own walkabouts when he grew bored in Heaven, he’d stirred the anxieties in humans to quell his own.

But overdoing it had repercussions.

After all, Michael hadn’t really meant for the Reign of Terror to catch on like it had.

However, a bit of anxiety was good for everyone. Or, at least, it was better off not in _his_ head. Thus, Michael was walking the aisles, flitting from nerd to nerd, and letting their anxieties and fears bubble over: a pale bastard who was scared he’d die a virgin since he was about to hit his forties with no reprieve yet from that fate; an overweight mouth-breather, who had promised to enter some asinine comics costume contest and was terrified he’d look ridiculous as Batman; and a middle-aged woman who wished her home-drawn comics could find an audience on the internet but, deep down, _knew_ they never would. Oh, each person he walked past lightened the load on him, and as he made his rounds, Michael walked with stronger steps and felt his shoulder ease lower.

Yes, for a few blessed hours he felt better. Hell, the pain in his right side might even subside this time.

At least, that was what he’d been hoping for until he got a sledgehammer to the chest when he stepped into the section of the store with gifts and bobbleheads, trinkets from nerd bullshit that humans wasted their time on, and saw one Ella Lopez before him.

 _Great, like Samael won’t see this as a threat and not just an asshole coincidence_.

Michael turned sharply to leave, to (alright) limp out of the store and ditch Ella. He’d only impersonated his twin for a few days, but he’d gathered from the forensic scientist’s enthusiastic shoe beating and her hugs that, somehow, Samael meant a lot to her, that she saw him as a good brother.

Oh, what a foolish, naïve woman she was. Sam was many things, a true brother and comrade in arms was not one of them.

Maybe it _never_ had been.

One’s brother---twin no less---did not wrench your wing from its socket, tear out feathers, and destroy your right side. He wouldn’t try and drag you to eternal damnation with him.

But like his real siblings, Samael had seemed to snow Ella as well. Either way, Michael didn’t want the trouble. He was halfway back to the front of the store when a small, surprisingly soft hand was on his shoulder.

“Hey, Lucifer! What are you doing here? Paying back a favor? Or did Trixie want something from the store?”

All he had to do was keep moving, keep his stride fast and his determination in sight. But her very touch bowled him over. Michael had been on earth many times before, sometimes for vacation from the Silver City and sometimes on Dad’s orders, but he had rarely felt fear like the waves pouring off Ella and threatening to swallow him whole.

Michael stumbled and tried to compensate by falling unto his right foot. For all his Celestial strength, pain was pain, and he groaned to himself as his weak side gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground.

“Fuck!”

Ella was already fussing over him, and he was not noticing that she smelled nice, like cinnamon and a hint of something else, almost like brown sugar. Nope. That was just a fluke. It was, well…he hadn’t been touched in a long time, not since Chloe Decker had played him, made him think that there was a chance she might care about the battered and broken twin. The one who _felt_ _wrong_ due to his power over fear. Ella was making a mistake, again thinking he was Samael, but at least there were no ulterior motives with her touch, just the kindness of a woman who didn’t yet realize that Sam would break her heart because that was who he was.

Who Samael had always been.

“Hey, Lucifer? What…are you okay?”

Michael sat up and tried to stand, but with his own rising panic (and there went a day’s work) and the weakness of his right leg, he crumpled again. “Just leave it, Ella.”

She stilled then, but her hand remained on his shoulder even after he’d shouted at her. He wished, despite how much he missed any contact at all, that she’d stop. His stomach was roiling and his vision blurring, and if she didn’t break contact with him, he was going to hyperventilate like a lowly mortal.

_Dear Father, what the fuck has happened to this one?_

“Lucifer? Are you sick…let me help!” Ella said, and her hands were on either side of his face and he was definitely going to vomit if she didn’t drop her hands. If he’d been more in control of himself, she couldn’t have manhandled him until he was staring at her, but he wasn’t, not then and not with the anxiety spiraling uncontrolled within him.

Ella forced Michael toward her, and then she dropped her hands instantly. “ _Mierda_ , you’re Michael, aren’t you?”

Michael was so thankful for the lack of contact from Ella. Her fear finally stopped, at least in his head. It took a few, deep breaths, but he was able to get his panic---mostly _hers_ actually---under control and finally stand. As he looked down, Ella added insult to injury by stepping back from him, her eyes wide with fear.

He held his hands up…well, the left was held higher than the right as always…and shook his head. “Sam… _Lucifer_ mentioned me, huh?”

“First, he totally didn’t mention you’re American so that means Lucifer is American, which is weird, man. Second, Lucifer and Chloe both said you were bad news!”

She took another step back, and Michael needed to just leave. That was all he wanted anyway. And yet, the fear in this one---it was enough to bring an archangel to his knees. How could Samael not have noticed? Worse, if he had, then why didn’t Sam give a fuck?

Michael rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath.

Because Ella was like a puppy, not that Michael usually gave a good Dad-damn about puppies or kittens or small, cute, harmless things in general. However, she was so utterly human and kind and defenseless and, once, he’d been the head of Dad’s army. Michael had, after all, been partially created to defend others. It was there somewhere buried deep in him, a bit like a vestigial organ.

But now to see her in pain like this. No, worse, to _feel it_ , had long buried and long though dead parts of him stir. For fuck sake, Ella was so utterly harmless that hurting her was as heinous in principle as drowning a kitten.

It was distasteful; that was all.

Mostly.

“I’m not,” he defended, trying to defend a reputation that was rightfully earned anyway.

She snorted. “Look, dude, I’ve learned a lot about recognizing _malas noticias_ when I see them. Everyone’s been talking about you!”

Michael rolled his eyes. “And I’m sure Lucifer says the best things. Look, you happened to be where I was running my, uh, errands. I was headed the exact opposite way from you because I _noticed you first_ , and I don’t want Lucifer or Amenadiel to be pissed at me. It’s a coincidence, and I wouldn’t pull anything on you, Ella.”

She put her hands on her hips, and despite the fear still pouring off her in waves and how incredibly tiny she was, Michael was impressed with her fierceness. He was honestly impressed this woman was functioning at all.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “You’d just impersonate Lucifer and confuse me, play some weird religious prank on Dan, and try and seduce Chloe. That’s totally fine. My bad.”

“Yes, and it’s been a nice six months since _any of that_ ,” Michael snapped. “I’m just trying to do my own thing in the city.” More or less true, but he didn’t want to admit out loud that his thing was preying off humans’ fears like a damn vampire just enough to take an edge off his own. Man, maybe he needed an actual job. A hobby. That was for later. “I was on my way out, I fell, and you helped me up. Bygones and I’m out of here.”

Ella nodded and then bit her lower lip as she appraised him. Michael bristled at her consideration. Oh, joy, there was pity in her look. He was half the Demiurge; he did _not_ need the pity of a human woman.

Not at all.

And yet, it was at least something different. A change in the endless ocean of a rut he’d gotten trapped in. No one ever worried about him, even if it was about his deformities. No one ever cared.

Michael cursed again and eyed her. “What?”

“I…you’re going to be okay, really?”

“I stumble sometimes. I’m used to my problems. Didn’t your family ever tell you it was rude to stare?”

“Well, I feel bad,” she admitted, moving her hands from her hips and wringing them instead. “You fell because of me, and that’s rude. I…you promise you’re not going to do anything shady?”

Michael swallowed and tried to force himself to think rationally, which was also hard when anxieties choked him. But he wasn’t always a fool. In fact, when he wasn’t usually blinded by layers of anger at his twin, he was methodical. There was nothing good that could come of continuing to talk to Ella Lopez. His brothers would find out, misinterpret everything, and he’d end up in an Altoids box.

And yet…that fear.

It bothered him; she had been so pure and effervescent in her hug to him when she’d thought of him as Samael. So, what had happened? If no one actually helped this woman out, she’d eventually crack. It was a miracle that she hadn’t already. Also, bad idea or not, learning more about Ella was at least something to do.

Something _different_ in the endless tedium.

“I’m not,” he said. Giving her a brisk nod, Michael added, “We should probably start over. I’m Michael Demiurgos, Lucifer’s twin, obviously. I am not pulling any other pranks---”

“So wouldn’t call it that, dude, and I’m used to stuff jerk brothers do to each other. I have _four_ older ones.”

Michael snickered. “Yes, big families are far more trouble than they’re worth, right?”

“From your mouth to the Big Guy’s ears, Mikey.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but let it pass. This trying to be nice to a human thing was novel for now, might as well go all out since he’d already startled her. “Right, so I’m feeling fine. You didn’t hurt me. It’s, well, it’s not exactly nice to meet you, but I don’t mean to hurt you either.”

She nodded and looked like one of the bobble heads a few shelves behind them. “Can I make the whole falling thing up to you? Ooh, there’s a great Fro-Yo place a few doors down. Do you like sprinkles? I love sprinkles, and they have both the chocolate jimmies and the rainbow ones. It’s really fun!”

Michael blinked. She was a quick talker, this one. And apparently one of the more forgiving humans he’d met so far. How had they gone from her being scared of him (and he was _very used to that_ ) to offering to buy him ice cream? Even with her guilt over his stumble, that was more than he deserved.

How odd.

“I…maybe not. I think Sa…Lucifer would be upset if I hung around you too much.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Luce is a pussy cat. No worries. Look, I tripped you up, and it’s the least I can do. Ooh, what flavor do you like? I bet I can guess. You totally seem like a dark chocolate to me. You know so it has just that bitter edge to it so it’s not all sweet all the time? I really like birthday cake cause it has actual batter in it and it’s super colorful too and---”

In that moment, Michael was unsure if he’d just been sent to Hell without knowing it and this woman’s motor mouth was his loop or not. There was an off chance it was intended to be and that it was possible he’d gotten his own Infernal room. On the other hand, there was something oddly endearing in the way she babbled.

No, wait.

Scratch that. He just was curious about her fear, worried for this veritable babe in the woods. That was _all_. Michael would humor her, let her buy him a chocolate cone he’d never eat, and get her real story about her phobia. Then, because he was probably an idiot, he’d at least send a text to his asshole brothers, so they’d get a clue and take care better care of their forensic scientist friend.

See, no muss, no fuss and a small, good deed done.

Sighing, Michael offered her an exasperated groan. “I guess that couldn’t hurt. But you have me wrong. I like vanilla with _Good and Plenty’s_.”

Ella shuddered. “Black licorice, dude? Total waste.”

“Maybe, but it’s on your tab, _chica_. So, let’s do this.”


	2. Chapter 2

She didn’t believe it when Michael told her his order. Ella figured he was having some _broma_ at her expensive or pulling her leg because seriously? Black licorice was the worst and she’d been going to _Cool Coquí’s_ for years and never once seen anyone pick the _Good and Plenty’s_. She was almost sure no one ever did. Maybe they hadn’t. At least until one Michael Demiurgos, who was eating his gross-sounding ice cream, had come in. Well, eating it sort of.

He'd spooned into it just enough to keep it from becoming a puddle in a cup, but he definitely had fallen behind her and her---okay she’d been hungry after picking up the latest _Justice League_ issue---triple scoop sundae with extra sprinkles, nuts, and marshmallows.

You had to add those.

Lucifer’s brother looked very much like him, which duh. Of course, back when he’d been going all _Single White Female_ on Lucifer, he hadn’t had the wickedly curved scar across his face. Ella didn’t know where that had come from in the almost year since the weird space station simulation case, and a big part of her didn’t want to ever ask. Then again, if he was as big an ass as everyone said, well, maybe he’d owed the wrong loan shark or Big Guy knew who. Still, it was weird to be watched by him, and not even because he didn’t blink.

That she was used to.

Lucifer, too, when he did focus, made you the only target his gaze landed on. Michael was the same and blinked about as little. So, it wasn’t his large, unblinking eyes that unsettled her. No. It was more that he was watching her with a mix of amusement and cold detachment.

She’d seen that look with other nerds at forensics conferences.

Right now, Ella was a puzzle Michael was trying to figure out.

It hurt a little, even if it shouldn’t, not to see any warm brotherly regard in a face she still mostly thought of as Lucifer’s, scar or not.

“So,” she said, blotting at her face with a napkin. Maybe the extra hot fudge had been a messy idea after all. “What do you do when you’re not, you know, impersonating your brother?”

Michael dug viciously enough into his rapidly melting vanilla ice cream to spill globs of it to the table. “I do have other things I do. Like I said, I haven’t been near Lucifer or Amenadiel in half a year.”

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Yeah, but I got the impression from Lucifer it was a big freaking mess, dude.”

“True, but I didn’t think I’d meet him or Amenadiel if I stayed to this side of the city. I mean, Lucifer’s got _Lux_ and that’s prime real estate off Sunset, and Amenadiel is curled up in Beverly Hills with Chucky’s baby momma.”

Ella’s grip tightened on her spoon, and maybe she shouldn’t have let herself feel guilty for Michael’s fall, but it really had been a bad trip. It would have been rude to just leave him at the store. Still, he wasn’t exactly making this easy, either.

“It’s _Linda_ , and she’s a psychiatrist and totally smart and awesome and accomplished.”

Michael shrugged, his left shoulder rising higher than his right when he did it. “Fine, then Linda and Amenadiel have the 90210 pretty well staked out. I figured over here near USC I wouldn’t run into any of Lucifer’s little groupies. I guess I was wrong.”

“ _Not_ a groupie.” She blushed a little, thinking over the _Weaponizer_ case and the fact that she almost slept with Lucifer when he offered. She’d wanted to for about half a minute till she’d shaken herself out of it. Since then, though, it had never interested Ella once. She’d hardly been an orgy guest, not that there was anything wrong with it, and now it was like thinking about her and Ricardo or Jay.

Just _no_.

“Oh, really?” Michael said, and it also sounded so wrong for such a whiny East Coast accent to be coming from a guy who looked like Luce. She could totally see why her friend pretended to be British. Way more charming. “That’s interesting, actually. I kind of assumed most of the precinct had had their way with Sa…I mean, Lucifer. It’s the sort of reputation he’s earned.” Michael snickered and ate another bite. “I mean, perhaps even that douchey ex of Chloe’s with the pudding anxieties had a spin for all I know.”

Ella shook her head. “Okay, so before he and Chloe settled down, Lucifer might have…I’m pretty sure there are more than a few unis he’s slept with. Dan? _Yeah right._ They get along but it’s so back and forth, kind of like my two oldest brothers. You know? I mean you have to know right since I am getting the feeling you and Lucifer and Amenadiel come from a huge family. Like he and Dan fight and prank each other and totally have that best bros thing going on…until one of them pranks too far, and they’re not talking to each other for a week. Ooh, and then snakes get put in drawers. So, uh, no. I don’t think Lucifer and Dan ever…but I mean, technically I didn’t get to the precinct till a year after Lucifer did, so I guess you can never say never.”

After all, no one _knew_ she’d had terrible, rock bottom (or so she’d thought at the time) sex with Dan.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. Ella pushed the last, liquifying remains of her ice cream to the center of the table and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Even thinking of her mistake with Dan made her remember all her terrible judgment. There’d been Pierce, who she’d crushed on so hard that she encouraged her best friend to get engaged to a flipping criminal mastermind. A string of one-night stands when she’d been floundering so hard with her faith and at _Lux_ way too much. The less said about a few underworld-connected witnesses here and there she met through work, well, the better.

And Pete.

Darn it. No matter how hard she tried, Ella could never quite escape what had happened. Today she’d really meant to have a good day off---run to the comics store, checking out that new adaptation of _Death Note_ on streaming, and lots of sugary treats. Easy.

Well, at least she had the sugary treats part right.

She closed her eyes, and it was so hard then _not_ to feel him again. To have Pete’s hands around her throat, squeezing hard until she thought she’d never breathe again. There had been dark bruises around her neck for three weeks, and she’d worn her big Ravenclaw scarf even in the spring over it to try and keep everyone from staring.

Not that they hadn’t known.

But when she remembered, when it hit her, it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Ella gripped her stomach tighter and started to rock, even as the walls of the yogurt shop blurred away and the bland yet perfectly normal suburban duplex Pete had with its sunny yellow walls came into focus. And the noxious scent of lilies hit her nose and his hands…

_So tight on her neck._

Ella rocked a bit harder and startled with Michael touched her shoulder quickly. It was odd. Just a tap with the end of his at least clean spoon, but it did ground her and get her attention back to the actual shop. Just _not there_. Anywhere but there.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

It was said with the same kind of cool certainty she had when talking about a blood sample or a footprint analysis. She’d been obvious, and Michael was just calling it like he’d seen it. And she didn’t owe him that much that she had to confirm his suspicions. Ella hadn’t talked about it with Dan, who was still struggling even now with self help to get over Charlotte, or Linda and Amenadiel since they were busy parents, either. No way she’d talk about it with Chloe and Lucifer. She was happy that Deckerstar were finally together after so long, and she just…everyone else had so much going on, and Ella wasn’t going to burden them.

Besides, if she talked about it, then it was real, and it felt too much already with the nightmares plaguing her and, sometimes, the minutes or even hours she’d lose in the lab when it crept into the day.

Michael didn’t even care. He was just prying to pry. Even Ella could tell that.

“I’m fine!”

Michael quirked his head at her, and those dark eyes were studying her own with possibly more intensity than anything Lucifer had ever focused on her, and that was saying a lot. “No, you’re not. Look, I shouldn’t give a shit, but it’s obvious you’re a wreck, chica. You want to tell someone, I’m here. You don’t, then I guess I did my good deed for the decade.”

“You don’t know me, and I---”

Michael sighed and picked up a _Good and Plenty_ with his fingers and shoved it in his mouth. “I know something terrible happened to you, and you’re not dealing, that the fear’s eating you apart from the inside out.”

“Lucifer must have said something.” That hurt. Her friend was great about keeping promises. He’d sworn---all her friends had---to be there when she wanted to talk but not to press or spread it. The thought that the first time Lucifer broke his word would be to squeal to his _culo_ of a brother ached. “That wasn’t fair.”

Michael leaned back as well as he could in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Trust me, Ella, hell would have to freeze over before Lucifer and I would sit down and talk to each other. I can just tell; you’re obvious to me.”

“I’m not that bad.”

She wasn’t, was she?

Ella had been practicing lately being even more perky than her usual around the precinct just so no one would ask, so they’d assume after months and months that she was feeling better. You know, just regular old goofy Ella. Not some victim. Not someone, worse yet, haunted by her own darkness and the fear of the maybe the hallucinations ( _oh hello Rae Rae_ ) she’d been seeing since she was eight.

“You are though. You’re about five seconds from collapsing right here and never snapping back. Professional opinion.” Michael pulled out his cell and eyed the time. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase here because I don’t have any interest in bull shit denial. You’ve seen what my brother does by now.”

“Yeah, that neurolinguistic stuff where he gets people to confess. Everyone knows about the desire thing.”

“Yes, well, Lucifer’s not the only one with talents in our family.”

“Oh, so you both studied hypnotism?”

Michael chuckled. “Yeah, sure, _hypnotism_. Is that what you humans tell yourselves when the obvious is right in front of you?”

Ella blinked. Oh boy. Both twins were equally messed up. That made sense. Well, Lucifer never tried to seduce and hurt her best friend or make a complete mess of his brothers’ lives, as far as she knew. Still, while Amenadiel seemed pretty grounded and like a great dad for Charlie, Lucifer and Michael _both_ must have latched onto the Devil schtick.

“ _Rayos_. You’re a devil too?”

He laughed again, so long and hard that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Fuck no. I’ve had a bad patch, I get that, but I’m not some lowly demon like Lucifer is now. I’m better than that. After all, you’re the one with the crucifix, Ella. You know that before Satan was the Devil…”

She nodded, since years of catechism were easy to recall. “…he was an angel first, right. So, you’re… _oh_! Like that Michael.”

“Yes, very exciting for you, I’m sure. You still like Dad.”

Ella sighed and picked with her fingernails at a glop of rocky road that had congealed on the table’s surface. She had no idea what kind of weird commune or family or whatever the guys all came from, but it must have been very rough if two of them had adopted religious personas. She wouldn’t exactly call Lucifer delusional and, okay, there seemed to be something to his _desire_ trick, truly, but that had to be hypnotism. Like a magician stage show thing.

God existed, even if some days, even now, it was hard for Ella to adjust to all of it, to always have steady faith, especially as her pain grew. However, there was no way she was sitting here talking to an angel.

Or that angels were surly asshats who made their brothers’ lives a living hell the same way that Ricardo and Jay were always at each others’ throats. Angels were way better than that. If she were honest with herself, it seemed a little below the actual Devil’s paygrade too. She still thought he got a bad rap, but there was no way that the actual Devil had decided just to solve crime in L.A. with a former teen actress.

Like, wouldn’t he get bored?

She sighed and focused on the melted clump of ice cream before her. “I…so you’re an angel? Like the _Champion of the Legion_ and _Bravest Defender of Those Who Believe in God_? Sure, dude.”

His expression soured, and he pouted back at her. It stretched his scar oddly, making it apparent that this guy wasn’t Lucifer yet again. “I’ve had an off millennium. Happens sometimes. Well, at least to the Demiurge, I guess. But, chica, you missed the relevant title there: _Terror of the Evil Spirits_.”

“Yeah, I guess so, kind of falls below _Sword of God_ and _The Great Judge_ ,” she added.

“But that’s…you know how Lucifer controls desire, well, some used-to-be-angels get all the luck. I got fear. It’s what I can manipulate in humans and the Host. What I basically am incarnate. I don’t even go _looking for it_ any more than I think that at first Lucifer realized he was such a useless hedonist. We just _are_ what we have control over.”

Ella frowned and kept trying to tell herself that Michael was confused or delusional. Hell, that it was another weird schtick by an even more out of work actor than Luce. But something had started twisting in her gut since the moment she’d realized who he was. And it wasn’t letting go.

Trying to ignore it, she fell back on defending her friend. At least that much she understood. “Lucifer’s not useless!” Ella objected.

“Matter of perspective,” Michael drawled. “That said, I walked into that store, you touched me, and I felt more terror rolling off you than I’ve felt from one person in _centuries_ , Ella. It wasn’t there before, and it’s so strong I can still feel it across this table now, even if you haven’t touched me again. So, something’s very wrong. I usually don’t care---”

“I can tell,” she replied, and her arms were back to hugging her middle. _Hard_.

“But you were decent to me in the station even if you didn’t know the difference between me and my twin, and you were kind today. It’s rare. So, take advantage of my uncharacteristic generosity. You’re beyond upset; you’re _traumatized_. I’m here to lend an ear. Don’t you want to unburden yourself?”

Ella couldn’t. She’d been trying _not_ to think about Pete and almost dying for the better part of a year. It was too much to say out loud.

Then again, it had been haunting her everywhere she turned.

“I can’t.”

“You know,” Michael said casually. “That’s the thing about fear. It doesn’t care if you try and ignore it or not. It gets stronger when it sits and festers, chica, eats through you and everything you are. Sharing it doesn’t make it magically better. Father’s pretty much a bastard about some of his big designs.”

“God’s not like that!”

“You don’t know much, human, about what Dad’s like, trust me. But you’re like a powder keg, all charged up and about to erupt. So, let it out and at least give me a clue.”

She didn’t like this at all. Didn’t like Michael’s attitude or gruffness, that underlying smugness that she should be glad he was offering to sit with her at all. She hated how much he was vicious about the Big Guy, even more angry and irritated than Lucifer, and that it made it even harder for her to cling to the tatters of her faith currently. And she couldn’t…it hurt to talk about it.

Ella wouldn’t. Not ever again.

“My brother… _Lucifer_ can’t tell how badly you’re eaten up by something, can he?”

“He’s had a lot on his plate with traveling to Florida and then he and Chloe _finally_ got together and, no duh, but you so didn’t help things, _pendejo_. So, it never felt right to throw this all on him.”

“Florida, right,” Michael replied, smirking like that was some kind of joke. “Sure. I don’t want to do this the hard way, you know?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Michael leaned across the table and tented his hands before him. “I don’t go looking for fears unless I have to. I didn’t want to pick up on yours at all, like I said, you’re a truly good person, and that’s rare these days. It always was, but it feels there are fewer still of you left roaming around. Humans were always so flawed.”

“Um, thanks, dude.”

“But,” Michael continued, “you’re the one who touched me. I _felt_ what you did. I don’t want to try and pull it out of you again, because it would scare you, make you feel some of what you must have when you grabbed me earlier at the store.”

“Then maybe don’t.”

Michael shrugged. “Smarter option, but a favor deserves a fair trade, sometimes. You let this keep eating at you, and you’re going to snap.”

Ella stilled then. She had felt something, a flashback that had been especially vivid of hands on her neck and those freaking _flores jodidas_ , but that hadn’t had anything to do with Michael. Even Lucifer had to _ask_ first. Whatever hypnotism bullshit trick needed to be primed, right?

“I’m _fine_ ,” she said.

He sighed. “Just tell me. I can help. Honestly, not sure why I want to, except something---someone---actually good shouldn’t get so ruined out here in the big bad world. Consider it, maybe, like a conservation effort. You’re worth trying to save, Ella.”

That was more than she could handle. The tears burst from her, and she shook with sobs. For a few months after Pete, she’d tried therapy, but it had just felt _worse_. Then, she’d clammed up and thrown herself extra hard into work and activities like platonic Furry meetups and church. Anything but dating _or_ dragging her friends down with her. They’d all been busy, and no one had asked what she wanted. Or needed. But she could handle this.

She could.

Besides after Pete, she was still convinced she so warped and bent and broken that she wasn’t worth saving at all. But now someone was asking, was actually listening, and even if he were an utter asshole, it just was too much sometimes.

All the time, actually.

“I…I almost died,” she said, glad that at this time of day the ice cream shop was almost a ghost town. “It’s too hard to say. I can usually talk all the time.” She wailed a little, thinking about how that had made her _perfect_ for Pete’s M.O. “But I can’t talk about this. It’s like it’s trapped somewhere in me.”

Michael nodded and stood from his chair. Then, he walked around the small table and knelt down in front of her. Even this close and with his prying, Ella felt worked up, her teeth were chattering, and she could smell the lilies so strongly that she was almost gagging.

“Look,I can make this quicker, get me up to speed, but you won’t like the how. Give me a minute, and it’ll get better after. I need to know.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand?”

He nodded and set his hands on her knees. “Ella Lopez, what is it you fear?”

The wrongness of Michael’s touch was apparent. It wasn’t even that giving Lucifer a hug felt so right in comparison---as stiff and squirmy as he could be---but more that Michael nauseated her, made her insides squirm and her breath hitch because she wasn’t just having memories right now. It felt like she was there, that the heft of Pete was on top of her, and she couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe.

Ella doubled over, gasping for breath, and Michael broke contact from her. He rushed to the register and barked at the clerk there to hand him water and a paper bag. She was half out of it with the fear eating through her, but it got better---at least survivable---if he wasn’t touching her. When Michael got back to the table, Ella jerked away in her chair. She flinched back fast, _anything to keep from being touched again_.

Michael stilled and, for a second, something less than haughty, almost sad, flickered over his face. He sighed and, leaning back on his heels, handed her the bottle of water and the bag. “I won’t touch you again, I promise. If you need to calm down, the water’s usually good. If you think you’re going to have another panic attack, the bag can---”

“Get me to focus on my breathing; I get it,” she said. The next words were out of her mouth so fast, that, like usual, Ella couldn’t control her blurting. “What the heck just happened?”

“I told you. Maybe they don’t cover that as much in the Catholic church these days. I’m many things, but the Angel of Fear is pretty much the top line on my fucking resume. He _hurt_ you.”

“I…yes,” she finally answered, looking down at the bottle as she pushed it back and forth between both her hands. Anything to keep busy.

“Pete. That piece of shit ‘reporter’ almost killed you.” Michael got to his feet with a bit more fluidity than Ella would have expected but didn’t go back to his seat. “That explains so much.”

Ella opened the water and took a few long sips, letting the chill of it ease her throat. Goosebumps were still rippling up and down her arms, and she couldn’t help but feel it now that Michael had touched her, had asked his question. He was _wrong_. And the same part of her that had held onto the idea that for so many years Rae Rae was real, had to be a real ghost, was back in her mind now, saying the impossible and that whatever had just happened was far from some hypnotism trick.

But she couldn’t…

She wasn’t opening any of that open again. Yes, the Big Guy was real, but Ella wasn’t some medium (of one sporadic ghost). Her best bro wasn’t _that_ Satan, and this odd, bitter man before her was just weird. And Lucifer had blurted out about her attack to his _culo_ of a brother.

That was all.

Had to be.

Except Michael felt so _wrong_. Enough that even with the cool water fresh on her tongue, there was bile rising in her throat. Ella finally set the bottle down and curled up in her chair, bringing her knees to her chest.

“What just happened?” Her voice was a small croak, and that reminded her of fucking Pete too. It had taken weeks after her attack for it to feel normal when she talked, for it not to ache like the world’s worst sore throat. “I…Lucifer doesn’t work like that.”

Michael ran his left hand over the table and sighed. “No, well, he’s luckier in some ways than he admits. Whether you think what I do is a Vegas trick or mesmerizing or whatever other crap you tell yourself about Lucifer so your mind doesn’t piece it together, then fine. We’re not alike in most things, except the looks department and the way our talents work or don’t. We have a lot we can get out of people. Mine just doesn’t have an off switch. I’m sorry.”

She blinked up at him and why did she feel so cold? “Are you really?”

“I wanted to do it the easy way. If you’d opened your yap, we could have avoided the show. Believe me, Ella, I do _not_ like doing that. Never have and I will never get used to it. Father’s so thoughtful in that department too. I just…I needed to know.”

“Why? It wasn’t your secret to get, just like it wasn’t Lucifer’s to share with you!”

Michael snickered. “Denial, keep clinging to that. That’ll help. Lucifer didn’t tell me, but I get it. Even I sometimes pick up a paper or here. The whole _Whisper Killer_ copycat case was huge news.”

He sighed then and eased back to his side of the table. The chill wouldn’t stop zapping her of her strength, and she couldn’t _unfeel_ it now that she’d experienced Michael’s own version of what Lucifer did with his desire mojo. But at least he’d given her space.

Ella set her head on her knees and it finally all came tumbling out:

“I thought Pete was nice. I mean, he was all the things I never go for because I have crappy taste in guys, total cliché of going for the bad boys. I can’t help it though.” She barked out a strangled laugh. “I see a nice pair of arms and extra tattoos and I’m just a sucker. Goes back to Detroit and my time in Vegas too, but Pete was sweet at first and he loved all the nerd things and he got the best convention tickets, and it was something for me, you know? I…part of me knew that it wasn’t right, that Pete was pressing all the time. I just wanted something nice. Or I thought I did.”

Michael studied her, and his eyes were as intense as his brother’s ever were. “First, everyone’s an asshole deep down. That’s probably a mistake. There aren’t nice guys.”

Ella snorted despite everything else. “Well, you’d believe that. You’re a jerk!”

“Takes one to see it in others. Men, women…everyone…you all have the those deep, clinging and persistent fears that grab hold in the corner of your soul and won’t let go. It makes you lash out, makes you put number one first. Pete is a real piece of work beyond that, no doubt. But everyone steps on each other in the end.”

“That’s _not_ true. Lucifer and Chloe have something special. Even Linda and Amenadiel as mom-and-dad together are super great. It’s not all _mentiras_ and wishing for better.”

“True, but you weren’t that dumb as a mark. It’s just hoping for better at all that’s a mistake. They can look like me or like some tattooed ex-con or even Nice Guy Pete, and they’ll all break your heart in the end. Though, most do not try murder. That’s…” he stopped, and she swore something flashed in his eyes, but it was probably the stress. “…more than a wannabe like that should have tried.”

“And great, so now you’ve heard everything, basically called me an idiot, and what? You’re off?”

Michael shook his head and fished a few bills and even exact change from his pocket. Ella shook her head and, as her clarity came back, got a ten from her purse for the tip. What a jerk; he wasn’t even gonna leave that!

“Tell me, chica, what do you want to have happen to Pete?”

“He’ll go to trial, and I hope he’s locked up for life.”

“No capital punishment. How disappointing.”

“No! I just…it’s not okay. Turn the other cheek is important. I…I don’t want him dead. I just want him behind bars forever so he can’t hurt other women or hurt me again.” She knew that part of that was a lie. Deep down, she wanted Pete to suffer in ways he couldn’t even imagine, wished she had five minutes alone with him again with the weapon of her choice. She was from Detroit, and she knew from scary. But that would be wrong, both in her soul and with the Big Guy.

“You’re lying. You want a lot more out of it; you want _revenge_.”

“I don’t!”

Michael shoved his wallet away. “You do though, and that’s what you’re the most scared about. You’re more worried about who you are deep down and what you actually want more than you’re scared even about what Pete did to you.” He nodded and smiled back at her, and it held none of his brother’s warmth, was cold and predatory. As _jodido_ as the rest of him. “Well, how interesting. My brother always found at least intriguing pets; I’ll give him that.”

“Lucifer’s just my friend and---”

“Well, Ella, he hasn’t been a very good one.”

She wanted to defend him, but Michael wasn’t one hundred percent wrong. She got it. Her two besties were in their total honeymoon period, and between work and Lux and Trixie and all the stolen moments Deckstar had been working towards, they didn’t need to deal with her mess too. And yeah, deep down, that small, angry part of her who hated Pete and wanted him shredded to pieces---wanted him to suffer---was a hurting that in their bliss, Chloe and Lucifer hadn’t noticed her drowning daily at the precinct.

Ella glared at Michael and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. “He’s my best bro.”

“Then you’re really fucked. Trust me. Lucifer’s a shit brother, and an even shittier twin. It’s all about him, and it always will be. But what do you want to have happen to Pete? Be honest with me. None of this Miss America bullshit where you answer about how you want some fucking world peace. You have the Angel of Fear and the Devil here to do for you what you can’t.”

“Because that’s crazy, dude,” and she meant for that to come out more angry or fierce or defensive. It didn’t have the same power as barely a whisper, and even she knew that.

“Humor me. Make it a hypothetical, chica. If _anything_ could happen to Pete, then what would you want?”

“I…”

He leaned forward across the table, and in that moment, she couldn’t help but lean closer too, to let herself fall into his gaze. “Tell me, Ella Lopez, tell me those things you never tell anyone else, even your friends.”

“I…I want him to never be able to touch _anything_ again. Even if he’s like ninety and has parole and is a little old guy? I don’t want him to ever have a chance of strangling someone like me around the neck again. I don’t want him to…” she shuddered. “If he ever found me or escaped…I don’t want him to _touch me_.”

Michael smiled more broadly. “Now we’re talking. I can work with that.” He whistled cheerily as if they weren’t talking about her assault and a damn serial killer and stood with some effort. “Hey, you have like half a scoop left. You should finish it, you know. That’s like twelve bucks.”

Ella blinked back at him. How could he go from even _creepier_ than Pete to annoyingly anal about money in a heartbeat? Also, again, so not Lucifer. Dude never even counted money when he took fistfuls from his pentagram (what else) money clip.

“Really?”

“Hey, now it’s a bit of costly soup. Total waste. Anyway, I’ll take care of it.”

“What?”

“Pete, no worries. Only reason I’d ever talk to Lucifer.”

“I…” she wanted to object.

It would sound insane to say that he and Lucifer could even _get_ to Pete as he was waiting for trial, but she knew Lucifer well and with as many favors as he had to call in across the city and state, well, he could get access if he needed it. She should say no. The Ella before the _Whisper Killer_ would have said no, would have talked about peace and love and doing the best for her fellow man.

But maybe that Ella was a lie, and Pete had shown her that.

Or, more accurately, _that_ Ella had been her best effort to bury her own addictions deep, to hide from her damage and the worry that she was just flat out crazy and there’d never even been a Rae Rae to begin with, just like her parents always said. At the end of the day, all the gambling and boosting cars and then trying to be so perfect for the Big Guy…it all came down to that, to the fear that something dark and broken was deep inside of her. Always had been.

Pete had seen it.

And she felt quite clearly that Michael did too.

“Do whatever you want,” she said, holding her chin high and glaring up at Michael.

“You really are more interesting than most humans. I have to give you that, chica. But the idea is I won’t be doing what _I_ want. I’ll be doing what _you want_ , deep down.” He quirked his head at her as he passed by and toward the door, keeping at least three feet away from her, but even then his nauseating wrongness still slithered out toward Ella. “I’ll let you know when it’s done. Don’t have to give you a play by play, but I want to talk to you again.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she replied, not even believing herself. She should still say no, call this all off. But she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t stop all the fear from gnawing at her gut. She wanted it done, and she _needed_ Pete to get his for that to happen. “I don’t think we have anything to say. We’re not exactly alike, dude.”

Michael stopped and considered her. “Not exactly. That amateur was wrong about you, Ella. You don’t have darkness inside of you the same way he did. Subtle gradations of things, probably too complicated for him to really understand. But you have so much fear there, and although this is all going avenging angel style to right the scale…that anxiety eating through you? That panic? That won’t go away. You need more help than even a calculated strike like this one will give you.”

“You’re my therapist now? What my priest? I have one of each.”

Even if she didn’t even talk about all her thoughts and wants and worries about Pete and her assault at confession.

“No, but it takes one in a very different way to know one, chica.” He shrugged. “Now, I’m off. Seriously, finish the sundae. Also, ten bucks for a tip? There isn’t even a real waiter!” With that, Michael stumbled his way back out of the restaurant.

Ella was glad. He confused her and made her want more than she should.

After all, the Devil was one thing (well alleged Devil). Lucifer thought he claimed to be temptation? No, desire was one thing, although she’d never taken her friend up on that either. But having someone offer to be your wrath for you? That was more than Ella could have ever refused.


	3. Chapter 3

Even without his wings, it was easy to sneak into Samael’s ostentatious loft. Perhaps it was idiocy or, more likely, his twin’s overwhelming and ever constant pride, but the elevator to his apartment was unlocked and unguarded. In the hustle of bustle of _Lux_ and with Sam perched in front of his piano and holding court, it was easier still to get up to his place and settle himself with a shot of vodka at Sam’s _other piano_ (because of course the moron had two; Michael half-surprised there wasn’t one in the bathroom too).

And then wait.

He'd done his homework because knowing things and skulking about was his specialty. Chloe Decker was busy with a family taco night with her daughter and the utterly useless Dan Espinoza (and Michael wondered after talking with Ella if he’d chosen the wrong flunky months back). Samael’s pet miracle not being around made things easier. He only wanted to pitch his plan to his twin, hopefully convince the Devil to do his half, and get on with it. He had no wings, and he’d been _weaker_ than his twin since the Fall. Michael’d had his ass kicked more than enough in the last year to last him for the rest of eternity.

Fuck, he was the one doing Sam the favor.

If the Devil couldn’t take better care of his groupies, then it was on him.

Michael sipped his drink and mused over Ella’s reaction to him calling the scientist a Devil-groupie. She’d flat out denied she’d ever slept with Samael. Odd. Yes, Chloe Decker had resisted him for years, but that was, Michael assumed, part of Father’s design for her. Her gift being that she couldn’t fall in the short term for Sam’s charm or lines of bullshit. Apparently, even a Miracle could be talked into Samael’s promises. Didn’t surprise Michael. Silver-tongued, his twin. Able to talk a legion of the Host into Rebellion itself. But how odd that Ella had refused him. (She’d blushed enough in her denials about Sam for Michael to fill in the gaps.) Samael had clearly had to have offered---because his twin _always_ offered, the whore---and Ella had said no.

It shouldn’t matter to him one wit that she was not a groupie. She was, of course, just a lowly human, just a pet Sam had collected along the way. And yet, Ella hadn’t been defiled by the Devil either.

That was interesting.

All it was.

Michael set his drink down and crossed one leg over the other as his brother stepped off the elevator. Samael was still clearly drunk off this applause from his own performance and, even now, was lax from his time on earth. Back in the Silver City, Michael could never have snuck up on his opposite. Back in the few times over the centuries where he’d swapped off for Devil collection with Amenadiel, Sam had been _hypervigilant_ to the intrusion of any angels at all. But his brother was king of his domain, and he was paying no mind to anything around him.

Michael ached for the flaming sword, for the weapon he’d once been gifted to fight Sam out of heaven more than for his wings in that moment. Dear Father, it would be so easy if he were more himself to truly get a blow against his twin with the moron distracted like this.

But there was no comeuppance for Samael. There never would be.

And he had no more luck to press. Any more mistakes, and he’d be damned himself, and the type of damnation that came with his own room and not with ruling the kingdom of ash. With the defects in his right wing and the height of the throne, even _with_ restored wings, Michael was far from qualified to rule that roost.

“Samael,” Michael said, offering his brother his best smile.

Mike knew it came off as oily---everything about him tended too. He was Sam’s opposite and, in him and mixed through his talent for fear, Sam’s charisma and genuine charm warped and changed into something smarmy. Michael could convince others, but it was like a con man did it or a used car salesman. So, no look of his was ever less than off putting.

_Thanks Dad._

Samael flicked his wings out instantly. “You’re not welcome here, Mikey.”

Despite discretion being the better part of valor, despite his weakness, Michael couldn’t change the way he was with Samael, not after so long. Too much animosity between them, and so much of it very fresh. After all, Sam wasn’t the one even more disfigured than he was before. Oh the side and the face. _Truly, thank you too, Brother._

Michael set his drink down and rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to start shit, Samael.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He snorted. “Yes, right, Lucifer. Of course, let me appeal to your vanity. You don’t deserve Mother’s nickname. You’re not a Lightbringer, and, deep down, you know that. You know you ruin everything you touch and bring it all into agony and pain, don’t you?”

His brother flinched. It was a slight movement, just the tiniest flick of feathers and rise in Sam’s shoulders, but his twin did it. Even Amenadiel or Azrael wouldn’t notice it, but no one knew the Devil better than his twin. Michael had hit the nerve again.

“I don’t worry about that, Brother.”

Michael snorted. Who did Samael think he was fooling?

“Sure, you don’t. Just like you don’t worry every time that detective of yours has so much as a sniffle or you notice just one more wrinkle or line at the corner of her eyes. Just like you don’t agonize over how quickly what? Forty mortal years pass.” Michael shrugged as best as he could. “Sammy, you never lie.”

“I don’t, but I don’t worry as you assume either,” Samael defended. “Sometimes I have stray thoughts, but I…Linda helps me keep focused away from them and from wallowing. The Detective and I have plenty of time, and there are always other things to find.”

Michael arched an eyebrow at his brother. Oh, how rich. His twin had to have already started searching the world over for that talisman or spell that would make his Miracle as immortal as they were. He wondered if Chloe Decker even knew. Hell, he wondered if Chloe would even want that. She seemed awfully attached to that brat of hers. Michael honestly couldn’t see her opting to stay alive forever---even if such magic could be found---and never being able to see her child or her extended progeny in the Silver City again.

Once again, he cursed his own idiocy.

Waiting was better. Waiting was _always_ better.

Samael truly did ruin everything. Look at what his selfish ass of a brother had done to their family, to _heaven itself_. If Michael had just sat back on a cloud with popcorn, he could have enjoyed the inevitable happening when Amenadiel (it was always him) blurted out about her Miracle status, and then Sam and she imploded. Fuck, even now, if he had just waited a measly fifty years at best, he’d be able to watch Samael suffer and go mad under the weight of watching his mortal lover die.

Just desserts.

But, perhaps, there was a bit more of Sam in him than Michael wanted to admit. If Samael could be vicious beyond vicious even now---and Michael’s face was proof of that---the Michael could, in turn, jump the gun, despite his carefully laid plans.

Still, note to self. He’d enjoy very much watching Sam cry and rage at Father all over again for taking his Miracle from him when the time came. Honestly, considering the effect Chloe Decker had on Sam’s invulnerability _and_ what a devastating blow it would be to Samael to lose her when she died as even miraculous humans inevitably would, Michael still wasn’t sure if Chloe Decker wasn’t a cruel punishment from Father.

If so, then he had to give the old blowhard at least that much credit.

“If you say so, Sam,” Michael replied.

His brother had not put his wings away, and Michael was keenly aware of how sharp the edges of his wings were. Overkill. They both knew that. Michael wasn’t a fraction of what he had been even months ago and wasn’t that _saying something_? Samael could have already handed Michael’s ass to him.

“Get out. You have all of earth to prowl, Mikey. What? Not exactly winning friends out there?”

He sighed. “Isn’t that the operative word, Brother?”

“What? Winning? Think Amenadiel and I already did that. We kicked your arse. So, go run off to North Dakota or Holland or Burma. I don’t give a toss. You’re not welcome in _my_ city, never bloody were.”

“It’s a large enough city. I can be where I like.”

Sam did not put his wings away, but he did near his bar long enough to grab a Scotch and pour it quickly. “But you want something. Are you here to smirk and tell me you’ve tied Beatrice to some train tracks like a sodding silent film villain? I’ve gone easy on you so far, Mikey. I won’t be indulgent any longer if you threaten my family.”

“ _I’m_ your family.”

“Oh, and how we both wish that weren’t true.”

“Agreed,” Michael said. “You can put your wings away. Not to put a fine point on it, but we both know damn well you can take me even without those things, and it’s not like I have any to pull out. Well, now.”

“For the best really. They were an awful eyesore, weren’t they?” Samael replied, and now there it was, the _viciousness_. The side that picked at what you wanted and could twist it against you, throw it hard in your face.

Michael doubted Chloe Decker had seen this part of his twin either. Clearly, that poor, naïve idiot Ella Lopez hadn’t yet.

After all, there was and would always be a reason why Samael was the Devil.

It was not all an unearned reputation, no matter how his brother loved to cling to revisionist history.

“You think you’re so clever,” Michael added.

Sam stepped back from the bar and sipped his Scotch, but his wings were still out and sharp as they could go. At least his brother was getting smarter for once, even if he never would learn about that pesky elevator lock.

“I know I am. That’s why people love me more. That’s why even our siblings and Mother do.”

Michael stilled but recovered quickly. He would _not_ give Sam the satisfaction, damn it. “If you’re so clever, then why am _I_ here to help you fix a problem with one of your pets?”

His brother’s eyes went red and that was still unsettling, even after the first time Michael had seen it outside of Babylon millennia ago. It was also an utter abomination because even if his brother looked it---could now pass for it better than Michael could---Samael was no angel, and he never truly would be again. Underneath was something as rotten as the brat who’d destroyed their family. Underneath was the red eyes and the scarred face.

“If you’ve hurt any of them---”

“I thought we established I don’t tie fainting damsels to train tracks, Sammy.” Michael stood, no longer interested in being so much lower than Samael as they spoke. It took a while for him to get to his feet. The fluidity of movement---the skills he’d had as the Sword of God---were long gone, but, even now, he missed that. Missed how obviously weak he was before his twin. But he got to his feet and stayed standing by his chair. “Ella Lopez is in a lot of trouble, and I didn’t fucking do it so don’t start on me.”

“Miss Lopez?” Sam asked, and that chafed too. Except for with Azrael, he’d rarely seen his twin care about their siblings as tenderly. Once, so long ago that the universe wasn’t even formed, Samael had fretted over Michael like that. In truth, they had fretted over each other. But that was no longer possible. Never would be again. “What have you done, Michael?”

His eyes grew incandescently bright, and whether Sam had meant it or not, his wings winked back away, and his face became a red, scarred menace.

The Devil growled back at him. “If you’ve hurt her, I will kill you.”

Michael quirked his head at his twin even as he fought back the revulsion at the Devil’s form. It was always an affront to see Sam’s face--- _their face_ \---so utterly twisted and warped. And, perhaps, not just out of anger but pure spite and jealousy, Sam had scarred Michael back. As if even his awful, new deformity could hold a candle to Sam’s charred looks.

But, as always, Samael was petty.

“Answer me, Michael. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

“I’m hoping you’re in almost that headspace there, twin.” Michael continued. “I bumped into her by chance, I promise.”

“Your word is garbage.”

“Then, figure of speech. I didn’t go out looking for a comic con nerd today.” Well not _that_ one. “However, I found her and the fear in that one? Well, I’m surprised even the humans around her can’t tell. It’s like a damn volcano that’s about to erupt.”

“I…” and Sam gaped back at him, his brother’s usual insouciance gone.

Point for him.

“Yeah, haven’t noticed that, right? Been too busy sucking face with the Miracle and more of course. Well, your friend’s a wreck, and the terror in her? That’s more than I’ve felt off anyone in one place in at least a century.”

“You _lie_.”

Michael shrugged again. “Of course I do when I need it. But the truth has its own pain, and I wield that too when it’s convenient. You know I’m telling the truth now. You know, actually _thinking_ about your so-called friend, that you haven’t paid her much Dad-damned attention in months. And, of course, you knew before I did about how the _Whisper Killer_ almost murdered her.”

“How did you know?”

“Fears are harder to block than desires, Sammy. There’s no fucking off switch for me,” Michael replied.

“There used to be.”

“Well, things change. Call it self-actualization after the Fall or maybe just how things in us change over time, but I can feel it all whether I damn well want to or not. Your little scientist? She’s drowning, Brother. I am telling you that if you want to keep her in one, sane piece, then you need to do better.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because she was nice to me both when I was you---”

“You twat.”

“And today when I stumbled _quite literally_ into her, she was kind again.” Michael stilled and considered that. Ella Lopez could be annoying, could talk too much, and was so overeager. Oh, and defenseless like a puppy. And yet, Michael found he meant it too. That he was, even now, struck by her kindness. “And I _felt her fear_ , Brother, and it was enough to make me almost vomit. I don’t know how a mortal has put up with it for months alone. Truly I don’t.”

“She’s fine. She’s perky around the precinct as much as she ever was, possibly more. She told the Detective she’s at therapy. I…” his brother sighed. “She seemed fine.”

“Did she really, Sam?” Michael couldn’t help but smiling back at him, at offering him a feral look of his own. “Or were you just busy with your Miracle?” He could feel it, even if usually he didn’t want to---that anxiety he always pulled out of everyone. With his Samael, it took more effort. His twin knew his tricks and had long since practiced against them. But when Sam was caught flat-footed, Michael could home in like he would on anyone else for the kill. “Oh, you are a bad friend, believe me. You’re a shit brother too, but you weren’t asking about that.”

“Don’t test me, Mikey.”

“I already have. You failed. You know better than I do that you let your pet human down. You’re already piecing together and going over everything at the precinct with her in the last…oh just this week, right?”

“Stop reading me!”

“As worked up as you are now, Sammy? Couldn’t block it if I wanted to.” Michael walked to him and circled Sam, giving the Devil a wide berth still. “You know you’ve ignored her. That you’ve told yourself she’s doing the right things and taking care of herself after that asshole Pete. You believed it, but now you think about how her eyes aren’t as bright and her explanations at work don’t have all her asides and jokes…you realize that it’s been _months_ since you’ve just hung alone in the lab with her to let her blather on about synthetic wood and other techniques you don’t give a Dad damn about but you know makes her feel better to talk about with you. Oh, Sam, you’re as good at _pretending to be a brother_ as you at being a real one.”

“Shut up!” Samael’s eye flashed so brightly crimson, and Michael smirked. He had Sam now.

Michael stilled and limped to the bar. Leaning against it for support on his weak side, he poured himself another vodka. “Hit that nerve, didn’t I?”

“I…say you’re correct and Miss Lopez is so very upset. Message delivered, Mikey, now take off to any other continent and be gone again.”

“I’m not your subject, and I’m not a fan you’re lording over either. I do as I please.”

“Do you go flying?” Sam said, his voice a low rumble.

“Fuck you too, then,” Michael replied, hating the way his glass almost slipped from his grip. Well, they were always so gifted at getting under each other’s skin. “This is about your friend. I’m going to regret doing this, I know it, but cut to the chase and even us out. Ask me what I want, Brother.”

Sam frowned at him, and it was weird to watch his twin quirk an eyebrow ridge back at him since, of course, like this, Samael had no hair on his waxy, scarred face. “Really?”

“Yes, just ask.”

“Fine, then, Michael Demiurgos, what do you desire?”

Michael felt it then, that impulse to blurt everything superficial out as well releasing that yearning he’d buried in his chest now struggling to burst open. What an open-ended question that was. Immediately? He wanted to keep his promise (a rarity for him, granted), but he _did_ want to honor his word and make Pete a damn pancake alongside Samael. A one night only engagement as avenging angels once again. But more deeply, what didn’t he want? He wanted to be the Sword of God he had been. He wanted to _trust_ in Father again. He wanted his body healed and whole, and wings that weren’t damn eyesores and broken beyond even Raphael’s repair. He wanted someone to love him more than they---even now, even _fucking_ now---loved the Devil. And the deepest, most shrouded part of him, the part that Sam’s skills were trying desperately to pry open, wished they were newly created again and that it was just them, the Demiurge, crafting the worlds and the stars.

That they were truly brothers once more.

Michael stomped that down hard. His brother was powerful and, honestly, Michaels didn’t remember his twin’s control over desire being quite as effective before either. At least not where he was concerned.

But despite the pull of Samael’s gift, Michael forced himself to stick to his short term desires when he spoke. “I want Pete to suffer so terribly that he will never be a threat to Ella Lopez again. I need the Devil to help me do that.”

Samael blinked and Michael’s compulsion to announce his other desires was instantly snuffed. _Good_. He had no desire, not really, to rant like an utter tool to his brother about things that were so far past they were more like dreams than actual memories.

He didn’t miss Sam, not really.

Never had.

“What?” Sam asked again, as if Michael had been less than clear.

“You and me, Samael. I want Pete to never think of touching Ella again. She needs to know that even if he wins his case on a technicality or gets parole or anything else, that he could _never_ hunt her down.”

“And all because she was nice to you?”

Michael shrugged again, and damn it, his shoulder was starting to ache after such a long day for him. “My reasons are my own. But yes, sometimes there are a few people in the middle of Dad’s precious experiment who are too good by far. She seems like one of them. I…things are unfair, I get. Life sucks, you get the wrong end of the wishbone, whatever. But that piece of shit Pete attacking her was like some asshole stomping on a duckling. It’s just wrong, Sam.”

And maybe, okay, it had been something for once in eons that at first, after she’d touched him at the comic shop and felt some of his inherent brokenness, that she _still_ helped him, still wanted him to be alright.

Michael was merely rewarding Ella’s courtesy. He could be less than a dick when it suited him.

“Fine,” Sam said, and his face flickered back to their own, complete with brown eyes. Like looking in a mirror, though one twisted to show the best possible reflection of Michael back, not the mess he was now. “What do you propose? I don’t kill humans, not anymore.”

“Yes, Cain. None of us above were too torn up about that one. That loser was due in Hell way too long ago. Good work.”

“I am not taking that compliment, Mikey. Besides, you gone bad enough to break Dad’s biggest law either?”

Michael shook his head. “You’d have to be threatened by the apes to actually consider murdering them. They’re mostly below my concern. You’re the one who wants pets to stroke his ego, not me. But you’re a master at what you do. You can torture him full well without killing him.”

“And what do you propose then?”

“A truce for the day. We work together to utterly destroy Pete, both his mind and his body, but we don’t kill him. Besides,” Michael said, offering his twin a genuine smile. “Where’s the fun in that? Sure, there’s the general fear of pissing Dad off too much because I do not need that right now.”

“Don’t want to end up mortal?”

“Don’t want to end up always set on overcooked hotdog?”

Sam stiffened and Michael relished that. Oh, that fear was easy enough to pick up, and he’d figured that out early on, even during their first fight in the penthouse. Samael had been afraid, deep down, that his precious Miracle had liked Michael more for the day. That she had liked the twin whose self-actualization didn’t leave him a twisted mess with burnt skin and a face that could drive most mortals mad.

“Do be quiet, Michael. You don’t want to push me.”

“No, I don’t for today. But we do want to make Pete feel all of it, don’t we? Strip him of all he is and leave the bastard alive so he can enjoy a very long life wrecked and dreading his turn in Hell.”

Samael smiled viciously, and, for once, Michael was sure their expressions were the same. “Agreed. I can put things aside for a day, even with someone as loathsome as you.”

“Hate you too, Brother.”

“But for Miss Lopez’s sake and for the utter pleasure of rending Pete limb from bloody limb, I agree.” He held out his hand to Michael, and it did not escape his notice that it was Sam’s right hand. “Have we a deal?”

“You’re _still_ not British.” Michael griped, raising his bad hand with some effort to take his twin’s.

“I’ve had this accent since before the States existed. I like it.”

Michael snorted. “You like getting laid.”

Sam shrugged and broke contact with him. “I recommend it. Good for the soul, Mikey. Have you ever?”

With a human? Well, he’d considered it with Chloe Decker; Michael would be lying if he didn’t admit that to himself, but she was at least _blessed_ and the thought for just a moment someone preferred him over Samael had been beyond enticing. After she played him? Not so much. But a regular human to bed? They were hardly more than evolved monkeys. Tail free, sure, but really? He was not going to slum it like his brothers.

Then again, it stung to hear his brother fling his lack of experience with anyone back at him.

Oh Samael was always so gifted at hurting him; they were talented at swiping wide and wounding each other.

_A never-ending cycle._

Well, tonight at least the pain would be levied on someone else. Their combined fury focused on the one asshole who deserved it for sure: _Pete_.

“That’s not something I’m going to talk about. I don’t spill all my desires like a lowly, brain-dead ape.”

“Ooh, you never have? How interesting! I figured you and Mazie had gotten so tight in her inevitable betrayal cycle with me. Was I wrong?”

“I---”

Possibly, he might have, but demons were lower still than humans. Granted, all the Host were siblings and _no_. However, if Michael needed to fuck anything---and he didn’t---he’d go find someone of another pantheon or maybe even one of the less onerous Endless. Mortals and demons were what Sam debased himself with.

Michael was better than that, was hardly a whore.

Sam continued on, loving the sound of his own voice as usual. “Well, Mikey, now that you’re on earth for the long haul, I bet you’ll lower whatever standards you pretend to have. Humans are quite wonderful.”

“Shut up, Sam. Now, we talking strategy now or not?”

“Yes, let’s. The less time we have to tarry with each other the better.”

Michael walked back to his chair and nodded. “Believe me, second thing we’ve agreed on since the Fall. I just want to make Pete suffer more than I hate dealing with you. One time reprieve, you self-indulgent ass.”

“Agreed, you weaselly usurper.”

“Fuck you.”

“I keep saying if you had a go with a human, you’d lose some of that tension, Mikey.” Sam grinned viciously back at him once more. “Besides, you may be in luck. I’ve found both women and men dig scars.”

“Go to Hell.”

“Not for now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains torture and can be quite rough. It's not Saw level, but it's definitely violent and intense.

Pete Daly hadn’t just turned his rage on his mother because that seemed to be serial killer step number one. Oh no. While whatever story he might have used in the press to justify his spree involved the typical “my mother didn’t love me” crap (Michael might have perused a few bits of press between planning with his twin and their rendezvous that evening) was only part of it. Also, personally, Michael had no patience for that as an excuse. He’d had more than one soul he’d had to weigh in heaven and hand back to Azrael for a kick demotion downstairs whose only defense was my mother didn’t love me enough. Who’s did? His mother was a psychotic who’d sent floods to end humanity. Didn’t seem him murdering people.

Also, it wasn’t that Michael gave a shit about humans in general, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with turtles or dogs or monkeys got slaughtered. He wasn’t a fan of Father’s lesser efforts in general, but it was more indifference. He didn’t actively need to murder them. They were beneath his attention as they should be below Amenadiel and Samael’s and _certainly_ should have been nothing his mother ever should have focused on.

However, Pete clearly had been financially motivated too because, apparently, his mother wasn’t only an expert gardener but also a shrewd stock market player. Upon her death which the police at the time had attributed to home invasion gone poorly, Pete as her sole heir had inherited millions. The type of nest egg that enabled him to hire the best defense lawyers in the state, come up with bail, and end up in his spacious family estate on monitored release, ankle monitor and all.

It wouldn’t have mattered had the asshole been in an actual jail. There were no walls on earth that could keep the Devil and an archangel out. However, it was a bit simpler and would give them more time with their victim. Michael very much wanted to take the long and slow route with this one.

Michael tore through the gate's door and waited for Samael to appear. As always, his brother ran late and it was almost a half hour before the Prince of Darkness put in his appearance.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Watch that costs ten grand break?”

Sam straightened the lapels of his suit, another useless affectation of his as his brother had so very many. “No, but a stakeout with the Detective ran late, and I couldn’t explain to her I needed off to torture Pete now could I?”

“Depends?” Michael said, shrugging, his right shoulder staying lower than his left. And some days the damn thing barely moved at all. “Chloe likes Ella, right? Maybe she’d be supportive of this.”

“She wouldn’t.”

Michael grinned again, feeling that edge of fear from his brother. Oh, Samael had spent so little time keeping his own walls up. Back in the Silver City, it had been a challenge to penetrate his brother’s worries. Equal and opposite and all that. However, here, Samael wore all his worries and phobias like bright badges, and Michael needed no effort at all to ferret through them. He had met humans lately harder to gauge, and that included Ella, herself.

But oh yes, even after his brother and his miracle had sealed the deal, it was clear that Sam was very insecure about his relationship, even now. Michael could understand in a way. It was one thing for a human---even a blessed one---to think they knew what they were getting into with Samael. It was another for the reality to set in. And while his twin never directly lied, Sam took inhuman efforts to hide the parts of himself he knew were unacceptable.

The sides the Host knew well, the pride and wrath and brutality that had landed his brother in exile in the first place. The Devil was not a gentle being, no matter what front Sam put on for his pets. And what the two of them were about to do would not sit well with someone who was as big a stick in the mud and stickler for justice (or the flawed mortal version of it more accurately) as Chloe Decker.

“How interesting,” Michael said, enjoying the flavor of his brother’s fears. Most of the time, Michael loathed his so-called gifts. When it gave him more ammo to needle Samael, he relished them. “Your miracle knows what you are. She’s seen it, right?”

Sam stiffened as they started to the back door. “I don’t go out of my way to _inflict_ it on her. She’s seen more than enough.”

“Never seen the King of Hell in action, has she? Thinks she’s got a housecat with you and doesn’t know it’s a damn tiger.” Michael smirked. “The human capacity for denial is impressive. They’re frail, petty, and so very breakable creatures, but they can lie to themselves with exquisite precision. Your miracle thinks you’re safe to be around, doesn’t she? How quaint.”

“I’d never hurt her or my friends.”

He shrugs. “But it’s something I’m sure she’s made in her mind, that nice little line between you and me. You’re the one who protects, who is gentle, and I tear through everything with my well laid plans.”

“Not that great as far as plans go,” Sam bit back. “And must we do this now?”

“Well, you’re the one who’s bathing in his own fear and self-loathing tonight. I can’t help it’s appetizing.”

“Do shut up, Mikey, till you’re needed.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as Samael approached the back door. “Sure, that’ll happen. I just…how could she not really understand what it means you’re Hell’s once-and-future king. Does she really believe you delegate every little torture to the Lilim? Does she think you’ve never popped eyeballs out yourself or snapped bones with little thought?”

“I don’t talk about Hell with her. It’s no matter.”

Michael’s smirk broadened. Oh Sam had developed even deeper talents for denial than any human ever could have. How foolish. _How delicious too_. “It will be, and we both know that, but since that’s not my problem, and we’re here, well take that lead, Samael.”

“I hate when you call me that, Mikey.”

“Oh, I know.”

His brother rolled his eyes and reaching for the knob of the back door, yanked it hard off its hinges. In a bit of a tantrum---and Sam was so fucking theatrical---his brother threw the whole door across the lawn. An alarm blared out, and Michael tense for a minute because he did not want to deal with human law enforcement. It would be a complication and he was looking forward to a _long_ _session_.

But Samael waved one arm at the house before them and the security system went dead.

“I can turn anything off as well,” his twin offered by way of explanation.

Michael considered that. Made enough sense, he figured. Samael could ignite anything, part of being the Lightbringer. If a guy could make electronics come on…

Whatever worked. Michael let Sam go first because, even now, he wasn’t so desperate to get his hooks into Pete that he’d let his back be open and vulnerable to the Devil. The house was dark, but that was no matter. Angelic senses were better than human ones and they saw easily in the lack of light. The panicked breaths above them were clear too. That asshole was probably rushing around his bedroom, terrified due to the noise and flashy entrance (what else was new) of the Devil.

He nodded to his brother, putting his animosity aside and they were up the stairs in a flash. It was easy to find Pete, fumbling in his bathroom and with his cell clutched in his hand. The idiot hadn’t even left it charging overnight.

Good, no interruptions it was.

Michael nodded to Sam. It was the Devil he wanted first. The physical pain was a prelude, and his brother was, loathe as Michael was to admit, stronger. He would not tire of manhandling the human and, eventually, Michael might. Fucking right side.

Samael strode forward and lifted Pete to his feet and then wrapped a hand around the simpering peon’s neck and held him high above his head. It was gratifying for Michael to see the bastard’s color go blue and him gasp for breath like a fish on land.

“Hello Pete.”

“I…Lucifer?” he managed to gasp out. Then, Pete glanced between the two of them. “You have a brother.”

It was croaked out and distorted, but Michael could still make out what Pete was saying. Still, he’d rather they could enjoy the twerp begging. If he could barely breathe, this wouldn’t be as fun. “Sam, let him down. Let’s get him to the bedroom at least. I need more space. I think we both do.”

Samael’s fist tightened just a minute around Pete’s throat until his eyes bulged out. “I should end you right here.”

Michael shook his head. That would _not_ do. It was too easy, too fast for what Pete deserved. Besides, angels weren’t supposed to kill. His brother had once, and had left a human’s back broken and honestly, just been lucky he hadn’t killed that one too. While Sam was no longer one of them, Michael did not like to see any Celestial lower themselves so much against the most basic of laws.

He'd thrown an idiot tantrum of his own, but killing mortals was just…it was like pulling the wings off flies. Cruel but pointless really. Let them have their few weeks (Celestially speaking) to suffer and be done with it.

“Brother,” Michael said. “You promised me.”

Sam finally loosened his grip on Pete’s neck and dropped the wimp to the floor. Michael, realizing that Sam’s control as far as Ella Lopez was concerned was non-existent, decided to grab Pete by the wrist himself and yank the bastard into the bedroom. He threw him onto the bed and glared at the asshole who’d left so much fear in Ella.

It seemed impossible that such a small, unassuming human was powerful enough to do that. But here they were, and Michael was unimpressed but cautious. Pete was slick, had eluded capture by the police for years, so it was best not to let emotions overtake either of them in case the idiot tried to make a run for it.

“You can’t do this.” Pete said, as if that mattered.

Michael shrugged. “I think we can.”

“It’s illegal! I mean, Lucifer’s a consultant for the LAPD. You rough me up, I call my attorneys, and the case gets thrown out.” The rat sat up straighter as if he had anything to actually bargain with.

Michael eyed his twin. “That’s actually pretty funny. This idiot thinks he can bargain with us. Samael, please, I’m sure you’ve been dying to introduce yourself.”

Sam grinned at Michael, and it was feral and twisted. That much, Michael could appreciate in his twin. Sam for all his supposed hatred of lies, was at least a consummate hypocrite. There was no being in Creation more fearsome or loathsome than the Devil---Michael would know---so for once to have his brother actually lean into it than watch him pretend to be a house pet amongst his mortal friends was at least fucking honest.

It took no more than a slight flicker and instead of his--- _their---_ face staring back at Michael and Pete, Samael’s Hellish look was gazing back at them. For all his mastery of fear, it still turned Michael’s stomach to see what had become of his twin. To feel the _wrongness_ there. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what that felt like as a human. But considering the acrid stench of urine now in the air, Michael figured Pete was terrified.

“You’re the Devil!”

“Yes, great, you’re good at stating the obvious, numb nuts,” Michael said.

Sam glared at him with red eyes. “Yes, well, my brother might have taken some of the gravitas out of the situation, but Petey, I was _never_ an actor, and you’re in quite the pickle.”

“I…but Els isn’t dead.”

His brother’s eyes flared so brightly and when he yelled, his voice echoed across the room, a rough, multi-tonal sound that set even Michael’s teeth on edge. “Not for lack of bloody trying. You think I don’t know what you did in great detail. You think I can suss out what you wanted?”

Michael nodded but said nothing. It was his twin’s part of the show. For now, Michael only wanted to make sure Samael didn’t lash out and end their fun too soon. No, death and even an immediate trip to Hell was too good for Pete. This was all to draw it out, to maximize the bastard’s suffering.

To even give him a fraction of the fear coming off Ella in waves.

“The Devil’s not real.”

Samael shook his head and in a slightly vulgar display of power, turned to the wall and put his fist up to his shoulder clear through it. The house rattled and Michael hoped it hadn’t been a load bearing wall. Dear Dad, sometimes his twin really was an idiot.

“Oh, but I am, and Miss Lopez is most dear to me. You hurt her badly, so what do you think that nets you, Pete?”

“I…”

Michael snickered as the coward before them shivered.

“Yes, well, Devil got your tongue there, Pete?” Sam said. “I am leaving some of what I’d do to my associate. However, physical pain, I’m quite used to. So, we’ll start easy. I shall ask you a series of questions. Answer them honestly. If you lie, I’ll know.”

Pete blinked at him. “What happens if I answer them? Do you let me go?”

“Well, no, but if you don’t, what I choose to do will be worse,” Sam replied, stalking up to Pete so that he was inches from his prey. “Now, first question: why Miss Lopez?”

“I don’t think I want to answer that.”

Sam was fast, snaked out like lightening and the crack of bone breaking echoed across the room. When the Devil pulled his hand back, two of Pete’s fingers were clutched in his grasp. “That was the wrong reply.”

Pete was howling then and Michael was a bit annoyed by the noise, but the fear was beginning to build in this one, and the satisfying kind, the kind Michael hadn’t felt in eons…this was a mortal who now understood that divine retribution had come for him, that this was more-or-less the Wrath of God raining down on him. And that he was utterly fucked to stop it.

“Now,” Sam started again, dropping the fingers to the floor. “Shall we try this again? Why her?”

“She talked too fucking much.”

This time, when Sam reached out, it was a kneecap he took in hand and shattered with minimal effort. “Did she? Right, yes, like your mum. As if I give a good Dad-damn about that. Why did you think you could hurt _her_?”

Pete swallowed hard in between wailing about his knee. The scent of sweat was mingling with the acidic bite of urine in the air and the fear. Michael approved and, for not the first time in his miserable, immortal life, wondered if Samael’s actions had forced Father’s hand. He wondered too if that had ever occurred once to his self-centered excuse for a twin. Samael had been designed to be all about light and desire; it was Michael who was the skulker in the night and the one who elicited fear. Torturing the mortal now---even as barely as they’d started---was intoxicating to Michael.

So much earned and worthy fear, so much that didn’t turn his stomach the way it did when he accidentally felt too much or scared his siblings and the mortals alike away.

If Sam hadn’t Rebelled…

Well, Michael suspected his twin would still be an angel, and he’d, personally, be somewhere more toasty.

Pete was still whimpering, but Michael prodded him along, interjecting as Samael’s peanut gallery. “Answer. Trust me, you’ll want to keep Sam at least happy.”  
  
“I…she was so nice, and I thought at first that, yeah, I could have something with her and that I could actually care. I guess I can’t.”

Sam reached out again, and two more fingers were gone. The pinky and the ring finger on his left to match what had happened to Pete’s right. “Then, I assure you, that you’re more messed up than you could ever have suspected. Everyone likes Miss Lopez.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at his brother. To be fair, he didn’t actively hate that particular pet of Samael’s. Yes, he found her annoying and endlessly wordy, but Sam wasn’t wrong either. Ella was at least kind and sympathetic enough to have both the Angel of Fear and the Devil defending her, which meant you had to be a special kind of asshole to find nothing of merit there at all.

His twin reached out and cracked Pete’s left shoulder. Well, cracked would be a kind word for it. Even from where he stood, Michael could both hear the snap and see the angle Pete’s arm was now hanging from, and to be honest, he figured it was more like Pete’s scapula had been crushed to powder.

The asshole’s eyes almost rolled back in his head, and Michael held up his hand. “Now, Sam, if you get to excited in the beginning, he’ll just go into shock. That’s no good, is it?”

His brother trained that foreign, unsettling crimson stare at him and Michael ignored the way his own heartbeat sped up. No. He had never been scared of his sibling, even in the fight he’d lost at the precinct---and he probably wouldn’t have if Dad hadn’t shown up---but there was something at least unsettling in Samael’s focus now. Michael could grant that much.

“Well, I confess I haven’t much patient when it comes to this worm.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Samael had never had patience for anything. “True, but best not to render him unconscious. Besides, one more question, and then it’s my turn to ask.”

Sam nodded and eyed Pete again, who was a urine-soaked, whimpering mess, with the same kind of feral intensity as a junk yard dog eyeing a steak dinner. “Yes, well, do tell _Pete_ , even if you felt no connection with Miss Lopez and even if she fit your profile, why one earth you felt it a good idea to try and murder someone under my protection.”

“I thought you were an actor!”

Samael grinned more broadly, and it turned Michael’s stomach. “Fair enough, but you still knew that Miss Lopez has colleagues who cared deeply about her, had a family in the bosom of the LAPD itself. You didn’t think that her friends---Infernal or not---would want your head on a pike? That she didn’t matter more than as a plaything for you?”

The fear rolling off Pete was not just delicious but gratifying then, and Michael had to appreciate his twin’s approach even if it lacked the finesses of what he, himself, did. But fear was fear after all, and the Devil elicited a ton of it, blunt and rudimentary as it was.

“Answer!” his brother roared, and it felt like the room shook with his twin’s fury.

Pete swallowed. “I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know you were real or that you were Els’ friend?”

“So it didn’t bloody occur to you that all of her friends would want to rip you apart? Surely it should have mattered that she was someone to the lot of us?” Samael pushed.

“She found my room. I didn’t have a choice and, okay, if I had known she was literally friends with the Devil I wouldn’t have touched her!”

Sam nodded and took a few steps back. Even Michael could feel the decrease in menace in the room, and his twin was giving the moron a few seconds to breathe. “Yes, well, I suppose it’s understandable that a cretin like you lacked the brain power to see Miss Lopez or any woman your brutally slaughtered as anything less than an object placed in your path for amusement. I can relate. After all, Pete, you’re clearly a sinner who’s been placed in my path for a similar reason.”

“What?”

Sam surged forward and took Pete’s left ankle in his hands. There was a quick, brutal twist of his twin’s shoulders and the asshole’s tibia was now erupting from his shin. “See, hardly a joy to be treated with utter disregard, is it?”

Pete’s eyes rolled back again but the coward didn’t pass out yet. He was whimpering a lot, had fallen into a litany of “Oh God, Oh God,” but Father had never listened to mortals before, and He was hardly going to start now.

Michael stepped forward and gave his brother a brisk nod. “He’s not here now. Now, Samael, you can’t have all the fun. It’s my turn.”

“Yes, that’s rather selfish of me, Mikey. Pete should get the benefit of _both_ of us.” Sam stepped back and let Michael sidle into his place.

His first act was to let his eyes glow as gold as his twin’s had gone red, to let the power of the Demiurge---of Creation itself---surge through him. It was crucial he convey to Pete how cosmically screwed the shit stain was.

“You really fucked up, Pete. Because I’m _that_ St. Michael, and you’ve pissed all the angels off too.” A bit of an exaggeration, but Pete dind’t know the difference.

Pete stopped fumbling with his wounds, trying in vain to staunch the blood flow from his compound fracture, and instead gaped at Michael’s eyes. “You’re an angel?”

Sam huffed. “Yes, big bloody deal, so was I once.”

Michael let his twin sulk. This was his turn, and he could ignore his brother’s snark more or less. “I am, Pete Daly, and I am here to tell you to be very afraid. You’ve gotten both Heaven and Hell to see what a piece of shit you are, and we both promise you, there is nowhere you can hide from now past literally the end of time.”

“But you’re an angel!” Pete objected. “You have to help me! That’s what you do, right? You save people and don’t do stuff with the Devil.”

Michael gestured haphazardly with his left hand. “Other angels don’t. I don’t hang out near Sam if I can help it, but you, in all your MENSA candidate glory, picked on the wrong human. For right now, I can promise you, both of us very much want you to suffer.”

Pete moaned again and the bleeding, mangled mess of one hand tried to reach for his crushed, opposite shoulder. “I am!”

Michael shook his head. “You haven’t even started to feel it.” He leaned close to the pathetic creature before him, so much lesser than even the average human and that was saying something and stared directly into his eyes. “I don’t need to even ask, you worthless waste of skin, because I know what you fear. Clearly, _now_ , you have the fear of my brother in you, but that’s misplaced.”

“He’s the Devil!” Pete said. “And I can’t…I need a hospital.”

“Quite,” Sam replied. “That’s clearly not happening.”

“Yes,” Michael continued, not even glancing Samael’s way. “But you shouldn’t be scared of Samael.”

“Oh, I’m plenty scared. Please, help!”

Michael leaned closer. “You should be afraid of me, Pete, because I see you in a way even the Devil cannot. I can look into that pathetic scrap of substance you call a soul, and I can find every phobia and fear and dark thought that has ever terrorized you. And I can tell you, without any doubt, that you are _right_. You mother hated you, and you were nothing to her.”

Pete shivered and keened a little before answering. If Michael ever did this again, he’d have to invest in ear plugs. “You…you don’t know that.”

“I know everything,” Michael said. “I can see your memories, every dark moment that drove you to desperately want her affection and eventually drive that knife through her chest. I _know_ , and I see your failures and your shortcomings and every moment that still haunts you. I can weigh it all, and I know that she was right. You’re a failure, Pete Daly, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“I…”

Michael smiled, and he assumed it was as unpleasant in its own way as Samael’s expression. “But what you really fear more than anything, even _her_ , is your own weakness. You snuck up and murdered strong women with tricks and syringes because you’re too damn feeble to even handle that much of a hunt. You had to drag them down because someone like Ella Lopez is better than you---smarter and more beloved by her friends. As if you’ve ever had a friend in your useless life. You’re nothing but a coward shaking in fear all day, every day, because you know how worthless you are, and you can’t run from that.”

“I’m not. Those women were harpies and nagged me. Talk, talk, talk, just like Mom. They deserved what they got, and I thought it through! I was brilliant at it.”

Sam surged forward but Michael blocked his brother’s pursuit. “My turn, Samael, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Oh, but I want to tear him apart now, Mikey.”

“You promised,” he reminded his twin. “It’s not as fun if he gets sent to Hell right away, is it?”

Sam sighed behind him, and Michael had been right earlier, and he damn well knew he had been. Samael was tame for his miracle, but, deep down, the rage and bloodthirsty nature of the Devil was so deeply ingrained in him. If he and Sam weren’t both working to a greater effort, towards maximum long-term pain for Ella’s sake, Michael very much suspected that Pete Daly would be the second human after Cain tallied to Sam’s ledger.

But, again, that was not the goal.

No matter how infuriating this cockroach was.

“I suppose not,” Samael said, finally, and it had to be Michael’s imagination there was a low growl coming from his sibling.

As his part wasn’t done yet, Michael focused on Pete. Reaching out, he set a hand on the shoulder Samael had shattered---and yes, feeling it, Michael could tell the bones were barely even fragments any longer---and gripped it tightly. It was rewarding to hear the asshole scream, that much of a concession Michael gave to Sam.

“But you know you’re weak, and you know you’ll always will be. And you will feel it, Pete Daly. You will feel it as she does. You won’t know when it’ll come or how often each day---and there will be many times each and every day that passes---but you will know in intimate and excruciating detail what feels like to choke, to feel your lungs burn with a need for fresh air, to have hands crushing your trachea, to feel the blood vessels in your eyes begin to pop from strain…the petechiae…all of it. You will suffer as she suffered, as they all did, and you will feel it every day until your miserable life ends, and you will then be at his full mercy,” Michael finished gesturing to his brother. “Do you understand?”

“I---” And Pete grabbed at his throat with torn, bloodied hands even as he gasped for breath. His eyes bulged out, and Michael watched for at least ten long, satisfying minutes in rapt silence alongside his twin and Pete struggled and floundered and gasped. When the spell passed, Pete’s body went limp, and he gasped up at both of them. “What did you do to me?”

“Panic attack of a type, very specifically tailored to you, Pete. You will feel that every day, whether it’s three times or a hundred, well, it’s all random but inevitable. So, I hope you never get used to having the life almost forced out of you.”

Pete was shaking then, but Michael had enough control to keep any future panic attacks from overtaking him for the time being. They were still not done. Sam had requested that he finish with Pete, and Michael had agreed. While he knew that psychologically, Pete would be forever ruined, he also knew his brother was a master of lasting, non-fatal physical torment too.

A combined bit of artistry for a group project, after all.

“I just want this to stop.”

Michael shook his head even as he stumbled back and let his eyes grow dim. “It won’t. Trust me, this is better than Hell will be for you, and have no doubt you’re headed there, asshole. You’re going to be getting Sam’s VIP treatment, I’m sure.”

He turned then to look at his brother and frowned to find Samael removing his jacket and cufflinks. “Oh, so now you’re showing off?”

Samael shook his head and those eyes were the worst, so bright and so infernal. Michael hated what the final battle of the Rebellion had done to himself. He would never forgive his twin---far fucking from it---for ruining him, but he had rarely seen this side of the Devil and never seen it for this long at a time. It was true too, and even he had to admit it finally, that Samael’s Fall had cost him too, even with the life he’d cobbled together for himself on earth. It was deserved because Sam had Rebelled, had brought it on himself, but it was still horrific in its scope.

 _Note to self, never piss Dad off fully_.

But Michael had not known because his brother made short work of taking off his shirt too and before Mike could make a crack about Samael’s vanity and how unnecessary such a display way, Sam _changed_. No, that was too small and kind a word for it. The burned and raw skin of his head spread across his torso and down his arms and hands. Claws erupted from nail beds, skin and muscle weathered and pitted in odd and disturbing ways across his frame, and wings---if one could call them that at all---erupted from his back, huge gargoyle-like monstrosities that left filled Michael with nausea and revulsion to even see them.

His busted wing had been a blight on a divine being. Samael’s wings were nothing short of utter blasphemy.

Instinctively, Michael stepped back from his twin and tried to force his own wings out, but his weapons were denied to him currently by Father. Sam noticed his deference---alright, being honest, his dam _fear_ of his twin---and Michael expected a look for triumph to spread across his asshole brother’s face. But it was not there. Granted, it was hard to read Samael like this where his skin looked like overcooked lasagna or worse, but it was still Sam there, still the same featured underneath the burns that they shared in common. Even now. But the look Samael gave him with his eyes dimmed and the slight hitch in his breath, the tiniest of sighs…it seemed resigned.

And mournful.

Fuck it. Michael was hardly Sam’s confessor, and mostly he could give a rat’s ass what Hell had done to Sam. He’d been the one to defy Dad, to get some of their siblings killed in battle, to whore himself out to and debase Father’s little side project for eons. Actions had consequences. Samael had reaped his fairly.

Even if there was something physically painful in the form he had now. In those _wings_.

“Well, way to hulk out there,” Michael drawled.

Sam’s eyes blazed. “Do shut it, Mikey.”

“Whatever, _Sammy_ ,” he wheedled. “Have at it with that little puke, just keep him alive and keep his senses sharp. I want him to always feel every panic attack from now on in minute detail.”

Sam raised his hand, his long, gnarled claws catching what bit of moonlight that had eased in from the windows. “Oh, believe me, it will be my pleasure.”


	5. Chapter 5

They left Pete a shivering, crying, _bleeding_ mess before slipping out to the grounds surrounding the house’s estate. Idiot rich people. The walls around the home were great at keeping prying eyes from seeing what might have seemed like an intruder at first glance and definitely was the Devil in all his bat-winged, so-called glory in the yard too.

His brother had said nothing as Michael had watched him shred long strips of skin expertly from Pete’s arms, legs, and torso for hours. The bastard was alive, but he’d need an ambulance soon to make sure he stayed that way. When they’d left, Sam hadn’t changed back, but he’d gestured vaguely to his discarded jacket and shirt, and Michael had humored him for expediency’s sake and taken it with them. Now, he fished Sam’s phone from his pocket.

“Would you like me to call 911?” Michael was equal parts revolted and amused by Sam’s current form. Currently, amusement was winning out as he snickered at his brother’s claws. “Doesn’t seem like something you’re ready for yet.”

A low rumble came first from Samael’s chest, and it was assuredly a growl and, seriously, Michael needed to be careful and never piss off Dad the way that Samael had. “No,” his brother finally said, his voice low and echoing oddly in the night. “Call Mazikeen. She’s on my speed dial. I want to let her have a whack at him.”

“Oh you two speaking again?”

“Sometimes, when it suits me. She and I assuredly not friends, but the same cannot be said for her and Linda and her attachment to Charlie. If I need a bodyguard or her skill set, I call her and pay her. But comrades? Hardly.”  
  


Michael did as he was told and wasn’t surprised to find Sam’s phone as unlocked and unguarded as his elevator doors. “I was going to say. She’s not exactly loyal.”  
  


“Quite,” Sam said. Another growl issuing from him. “Just call her.”

Michael dialed and set the phone to speaker. A familiar and grating voice blared over the line:

“Lucifer, it’s four a.m. This better be good and there better be a paycheck in it.”

“Mazikeen,” Sam replied and even Michael stilled at the authority in his brother’s tone.

“I…Lucifer, where are you?” Maze asked.

“On business, and I’m extending an invitation for you for pleasure.”

“Honestly, while you’re hotter all Deviled out, I’m done with you that way.”

“No, that wretch who dared attack Miss Lopez needed to be dealt with. I’ve had my fun, but he’s still rife for your creative touches before you call the ambulance for him.”

“What? I can just kill that asshole.”

“No, no, we’re keeping him alive for longer earthly torment. Come here,” and his brother relayed the address. “and leave no appendage unsevered. I suggest bringing something that’ll help you cauterize what you need till EMTs arrive. Again, keep him alive, Mazikeen.”

“I’m _not_ an amateur. And for Ellen? Good people. We should have done this sooner.”

Sam finally looked at Michael and his eyes dimmed. “Yes, it was an egregious oversight. Well, hop to it, Mazie, and happy hunting.”

Michael ended the call and set it back in Samael’s jacket pocket. Then he held both discarded garments out for his twin. “Good, I was worried certain areas had been neglected.”

Sam shrugged and smiled. It came out more like a rictus, jerky expression around his yellowed teeth but it was a genuine expression. “Mazikeen has a talent for castration. I knew she’d get the right touch for it. But I think we’ve done well for the night. And once she’s done, oh my, Pete will certainly have a long and painful time to stew here on what will be her next act and mine down below.”

“Good.” Michael waited as his brother took both pieces of cloth from him. He snickered when Sam’s claws tore through both. “Guess you’re writing those off.”

His brother’s eyes blazed. “Truce is over now. I don’t want you near Miss Lopez, not ever again. I know you, Mikey, and all you do is hurt people. I can’t even now fathom what gave you one unselfish inclination in your miserable life to help her tonight, but that has passed. That bastard has been dealt with and I’d rather you leave my city.”

“It’s not _yours_ , Samael.”

His brother spread the abominations on his back wide, and Michael was also bowled over by the sheer size of the bat-like wings. They were bigger than his own would have been. By quite a lot. “Do you want to test me like this?”

Michael shrugged. “Fine, I don’t give a shit about your human menagerie, Sam. She was in my turf, she was scared, and I did a favor. Deal done. I don’t need Amenadiel’s insufferable lectures if I bump into you superfriends any other time. And I don’t need whatever the fuck you are on my ass.”

Sam’s eyes dimmed and his wings sunk to the ground.

Ah yes, Michael had hit pay dirt.

“Good, then we have a détente. I think both of us can appreciate that having Father pop in again would be even less tolerable than last time.”

Michael nodded. If Dad could do that to Samael, and his brother had once been the favorite…well, he had never really been the one Father cared for. If he really pissed Dad off, Michael wasn’t sure what would be left of him. Dad didn’t have a lack of creativity when it came to punishment. And there were far worse things to be twisted into than whatever the fuck Samael was now.

“Yes, I’ll stick to myself and you do you.” Michael turned to go but stopped because he was a liar, sure, but he believed in self-preservation too.

There was _zero_ percentage in pissing Sam off or in incurring Dad’s wrath yet again, so he’d leave his brother’s humans along. Would never seek them out. He hadn’t anyway. But he was as he was, made as Father had seen fit, and when there was this much fear in the air, Michael could not resist digging into it.

“You’re right.”

“About us staying the hell away from each other? Of course, I bloody well am,” Samael replied. Amazing. His brother still managed to be egotistical and haughty like that.

“No,” Michael said, circling his brother and his massive, hideous wings. “She will leave you in the end, Sammy. Everyone does, and we both know why. Deep down, in your soul, you’re even more bent and broken than I am. It’s what we _are_. More than the powers of Creation, more than archangels long ago---we were made wrong, and no one can love us. And you know that too. She might have seen whatever this is you are now before, but even a miracle can’t love it, can’t understand the reality of it, and you know that.” Michael stilled and leaned up to whisper in his brother’s ear. “You know that there’s a ticking clock on your relationship with Chloe, and it has nothing to do with her mortality and everything to do with what a monster you truly are.”

“Shut up!”

Michael stepped back and shrugged, annoyed that with this night being so long that his right shoulder didn’t even move, and his arm hung basically dead at his side. “No pithy comebacks, huh? Didn’t think so. No one knows you better, Sammy, and I am telling you that this might be new,” he emphasized his point by gesturing toward his brother’s current shape with his good hand. “but you were always _poison_ underneath. Father knows it too. In fact, we---”

He didn’t expect the blow, but he felt it, the slam of Samael’s body into his own and before Michael could even trace the movement---even _perceive_ it---Samael had him pinned and his claws pressed against his throat.

He barely reacted, just let his grin widen as he spoke. “Do it. You think Father hates you now. Take his Sword away completely, rid him of Creation too. With Mother in that pocket universe you made her, I’m all that’s left. You want to risk that? There’s always something worse--- _uglier_ —He can make you.”

Sam didn’t move either, but he hesitated, and it was enough for Michael to know his brother didn’t have the balls to do it. Because, for all he talked---and Samael could talk forever it seemed---Sam was still terrified of Father. Of making things worse.

“Don’t make me scar you again. Maybe I’ll hobble you more. That will keep your gift for Creation intact.”

Michael shook his head. “But you won’t because you need for them to see you as better than you are, even Amenadiel, and our brother should know better. And that’s why you really called Mazikeen. You can do the dirty work in Hell, and I am sure you have over and over again. But this is plausible deniability. You hope it never gets back to Chloe Decker or to Linda either. If it does, you’ll say Maze took it too far and they’ll believe you over her because that’s technically the truth and you’ll say that much. But if you ruin me more, well, I will show them all and they will know, Sam, how barely controlled you’ve become.”

His brother huffed but finally pushed off him. Spreading his monstrous wings wide, Sam looked to the sky and was clearly planning to take off. “You think you’re so bloody brilliant.”

Michael got to his feet with more effort than he’d have liked. “I know I’m smarter than you. We both do. But I was wrong before. I never needed to mess with your life here to get our siblings to see you for what you are. You’ll break it yourself---you always do---and then even the Host will know that you’re more Lilim than one of us. See them sing your praises then.”

Sam shook his head. “At least they liked me once. You’re like Pete, you know. Never had one single thing to show for your existence. That mortal has made _no_ imprint beyond pain on anything in thirty years, but you’ve had since the dawn of time to matter to anyone. Still you don’t. Go away, Mikey. Slink back into whatever cave you’ve crawled out of. Or, if you prefer, which bell tower, Quasimodo. The truce is over, and I will tear you apart if you ever dare touch what is mine.” Samael glared at him, eyes so bright that Michael had to look away from their ferocity. “What I did to Pete in there will look like a bloody picnic. So, don’t tempt me.”

“Fine,” Michael said, straightening his sport coat. “We’re done. Have a nice few millennia. Just fuck you, Samael.”

“And go to Hell, Michael. One day, I’m sure, you’ll bugger it all up enough for me to be your warden. I’ll relish it.”

And with that, Sam took off into the night, with short, jerky flaps of wings that were still painful to look at. Yet, despite everything, as Michael walked back through the part of the gates he’d torn through far earlier with his good hand, some small part of him couldn’t help but foolishly feel like this night had been so right. That they had been made to be Father’s avenging angels, and for once, leaning into their design had felt good.

Maybe some stupid, idiot part of himself couldn’t stop missing those days from the very Beginning, stop missing how they had once been beautiful and created the multiverse per Father’s design. When they’d cared about each other.

When they hadn’t been monsters.

But those days were long past, and looking for any camaraderie like that between them or anything better in their current natures was hopeless.

Much like the rest of Michael’s life.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

For a week, Michael’s life was maintaining its usual rut quite efficiently. There wasn’t much to do because he had no plans. There was no master stroke to get back home. After his humiliation and with his siblings still most likely fawning over Sam and his pet miracle like it was a dumbass soap opera in the Silver City, he had no interest in that. Money was not necessary. A landlord was more than happy to give him a choice apartment if he made them feel terrified for their lives. The basic services he used were similar, just a few conversations down at the billing office and digging into their fears enough to let them know that if he had to come back again, they’d be even sorrier then netted Michael the basics.

Besides, he was a (mostly) archangel. Was he going to debase himself further with some nine-to-five in a cubicle? Of course not.

But that left him during his days, doing a mix of reading, occasionally being bored enough to try human entertainment and television shows (not really his thing), and making his rounds to keep his own anxieties from bubbling over and consuming him. To take the fear and ramp it up in unsuspecting mortals so it didn’t eat through himself. After the great efforts he’d made with Pete, Michael hadn’t even needed to offload for most of the week. Although, based on earlier tips from Mazikeen and before their ill-fated alliance had ended, Michael had been turned onto the wonders of coffee shops in Los Angeles.

They were a supremely effective outlet for him, so many humans and wannabes toiling over scripts that would never be produced, over dreams that they feared would never be realized as their bank accounts dwindled down, and the time they’d have to return to Podunk, Who-Gives-a-Crap, for good neared.

He'd just gotten back from a tour around a coffee shop across from USC’s campus and had settled down to read something from Euclid, when there was a knock on his door. Well, at least it wasn’t Amenadiel or Samael. They wouldn’t have bothered, just appeared in his living room in all their still-winged glory to pontificate.

Which, huh.

At least that was interesting. At least this visit was something different, and Michael, for all his ability to stay on task and pay attention to relevant details on an assignment, was still bored.

It might possibly be Maze. Maybe she’d pissed Samael off again, and those two fought like cats and dogs as often as they were loyal to each other. Perhaps, she’d backstabbed him again and was looking to offload on the _other_ one. Fair enough, Michael could deal with that.

A guy got bored.

And after the weird connection with Ella Lopez and then the excitement of actually exacting vengeance on a waste of space like Pete, well, he was in the mood to interact with anyone. Boredom was getting to him. Dear Dad, it was probably the fault of the mortal plane.

When he got to his door, he looked through the peephole, not that any being on earth save his brothers, could harm him. The sight of an even more pissed off than her usual Chloe Decker staring at the door as if she could burn it with a look was unexpected.

And delicious.

Michael opened the door just as she’d reached out to knock again, and she stumbled through the doorway unexpectedly with nothing to tap her fist against. It landed her in his good arm for half a beat, Michael smirked down at her until Chloe pulled away.

“Well, this is quite the surprise. I’m afraid I don’t keep food around, Chloe. I don’t really eat, and the money would go to waste keeping stuff around. I think I have some tea bags though and maybe half a pizza since I broke down a couple weeks ago to try some. Garbage, but it’s on the kitchen island still.”

She stalked away from him and leaned against his empty refrigerator. “I’m not here to chat.”

“Well, I’m lead free, so you didn’t come to shoot me either,” Michael said, easing over to the wall and leaning against it. “What can I do you for?”

“What did you do?”

He rolled his eyes. “So much for Samael and any twin loyalties, am I right? I figured our little errand last week was on the downlow. Did he get a bit of conscience and squeal about it himself?”

Chloe blinked and quirked her head at him. “Wait, you two did something together?”

Oh, even more delicious. His idiot twin had managed to talk his way around the task they’d done and given his pet the wrong impression. It was remarkable how much a guy who never lied (yeah right) could do that to his so-called partner with a few choice omissions.

“Yes, but that’s really between us and the aggrieved party. Angel business.”

“You need wings for that?”

“You need less burned skin for that?” Michael replied. “Anyway, one-off deal, justice served---or punishment at least.” Michael winked at her and affected Sam’s default accent. “No muss, no fuss, Detective, and Bob’s your uncle.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and her right fingers twitched as if she were considering going for a gun on the holster she clearly wasn’t wearing at the moment. “I _hate_ when you do that.”

“I’m pretty sure,” he said, dropping the affectation and, jeez, if only Sam would. “that you hate when I do anything so it’s all pretty much the same no matter what I try with you. Now, Chloe, what can I do you for?”

She held her chin up high at him and, yes, Michael could understand when she was like this, so full of her own righteous anger and sense of justice, why his twin had liked her. Even if she clearly hadn’t been designed by Dad to push every button Samael had, there was a ferocity to Chloe Decker that was enticing and rare in most humans he’d met. Honestly, Michael chocked it up to whatever miniscule bonus hint of divinity was in her. At least she was better than a common monkey.

Of course, after being shot by her four times and so summarily rejected, there was no love lost between them. Chloe had made her choices blatantly clear, and for all her intensity and strength, she’d clearly locked onto the lesser twin.

“Lucifer…I repeat, what did you do?”

“Have to be more specific on that. In the last six months? Not much. I needed some help with something, and like I said, it was a one night only engagement. We did our thing, got a bit of justice…vengeance… _whichever_ for the party in question. And I haven’t talked to him since he flew off. Why?”

“I don’t believe you.”

Michael snorted and gestured with his left hand to the expanse of his austere yet functional apartment. “You interrupted me after grabbing a coffee and in the middle of reading a treatise on geometry. I haven’t exactly been up to my nefarious best lately.” He shrugged, and even then, there was the phantom ache that came from the loss of his wings, damaged as the right had been. “I’m taking a break since Dad’s already good and pissed, don’t want to end up the Lord of Hell instead of Sammy.”

Which wasn’t technically possible, not with his wing damage and the height of the celestial throne down there, but never tempt Father but so far. He didn’t want to end up parboiled after all. Better no wings than whatever the fuck Samael sometimes had.

“Okay, so then what were you doing exactly?”

“Yeah, not my place to say. You want the details on that, you talk to Sam. I am _not_ getting drawn into being the messenger again.”

“I’m not messing around!”

Michael shrugged. “Fine, then, but you’re the one who asked. You were super pissed about the ‘Dad made you for Samael’ thing. I mean, it’s not my fault that Sam left that out for the bulk of your relationship. That’s on him, just like it should have been on him to let you know that he and I had a special extracurricular visit to Pete Daly last week. He seemed overdue for some punishment.”

Chloe blinked. “You talked Lucifer into what?”

“Well, technically, while I asked, Samael was more than happy to back me up on it. I admit that much; we compliment each other well. A little physical torment there, some psychological scarring here… Maybe Maze called in for covering the bases. We did a bang-up job there, Chloe.” He smirked at her. “Unless Sam didn’t tell you that, and considering you’ve barged in here like I held a demon blade to his chest till he agreed to tag along, then, well, I guess he was creative with what all he said. _Typical_.”

“Lucifer wouldn’t hurt someone like that.”

“Oh, so the precinct got an update on what’s left of Pete. Good to know. We worked really hard on that. I hope Ella appreciated it. It’s some of my better work lately.”

Chloe sunk down on herself and the fury leeched from her eyes, replaced by flickers of doubt. Oh good. He could work with that. “I…Dan showed me the newspaper coverage. I…honestly, I didn’t realize it had happened till then. Some home invasion attack, and he’s in a psych hospital now. He can’t stand trial.”

“No, he can’t. But, you know, no technicalities to worry about. That asshole won’t be getting out of wherever they’ve warehoused him ever again, and he won’t be able to create thoughts coherent enough to help him plan a way out even if he _thought_ of trying to escape. Like I said, I do good work.”

“But after Julian…Lucifer promised he wouldn’t hurt people, that he’d let the system do what it had to do.”

“This is different, maybe,” Michael said, shrugging again. The effect was marred a bit by his bad shoulder not really rolling with the movement. “ _Personal_. Sam is very good about getting emotional over his pets. Pete made a poor choice in going after Ella. He’s only alive because it wasn’t you. Then? Doesn’t matter what promises Samael has made, that would have been an automatic escort to Hell, like Elijah and his chariot to Heaven, but way more screaming. And disemboweling.”

“But he---”

“What exactly did my twin tell you? Yes, yes, he won’t tell a white lie, and I should have remembered that better, but he doesn’t always tell the full truth either. So what elements did you get?”

Chloe glared at him. “He admitted you’d seen each other, that it had been Celestial business, and that it was concluded now. He said it got messy, and that you were still the same bastard as always.”

“Technically all very true, but he did leave out a compound tibia fracturing, finger ripping off, and skin flaying _hole_ in the story, didn’t it?”

Chloe’s face turned vaguely green. “You put him up to it!”

“I reminded him that he’d been a shit friend to Ella because he’d been too involved with you. I guess the reverse is true, and that _neither_ of you have paid her any fucking attention.”

“And you care?”

He quirked his head at her. “My reasons are my own. Don’t have to talk me much into being allowed to use my powers on some sinner who truly deserves it anyway.” Michael arched an eyebrow at her. “So, it’s not my fault. I reminded my brother he’d left a friend out to dry, Pete needed extra attention, and the Devil did what he does best.”

“He’s not---”

“Oh, he most definitely is. Let me save you a lot of trouble, Chloe. I know Sam way better than anyone else in any plane, even Father, and definitely you. We literally made the universe together. You like it? Don’t hear a thank you.”

“What?”

Michael snorted at that. “Sam and details, am I right? Anyway, when you’re less pissed at him---if there’s a less pissed off time---then ask him to define ‘Demiurge.’ You two really need to sit down with a flow chart or a power point, get you all caught up, miracle.”

She flinched at the term, and he smiled broader. “Chafes still, right? Don’t answer that; it’s a rhetorical question. But you get the version of Samael that he wants you to see. I’m not saying it’s not real…more like it’s limited. This is who he wants to be here, that much is blatantly obvious and just rife with secondhand embarrassment. Because, seriously? Palling around with humans _should_ shame Samael and Amenadiel both but maybe earth got to them. But he’s still very much the King of Hell, Chloe, and he’s going to go back there some day. If that’s fifty years from now, and when you’re taking a dirt nap, well, Sam’s still going back. So, yeah, Punishment---capital P---that’s _his_ specialty. He reins it in for you. But it’s there.”

“He promised that he wouldn’t break anyone’s back after Julian and that he’d---”

“Technically, we didn’t pull that one on Pete,” Michael added. “Look, what do you _think_ I did to Sam? Maybe I can help.”

Chloe’s face turned thunderous and she glared at him. “You’ve never helped anyone in your life.”

“Debatable. I suggested oxygen, you know. I think most lifeforms on this planet appreciate it.” It was rewarding to watch Chloe gape at him like a goldfish on land. Seriously, Sam had known her for years, and she’d been aware of what he was for a decent chunk of that. Did those two never talk? “Try me. What’s up with Samael?”

“He hasn’t been to work for over a week.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault. Maybe _Lux_ was taking up his time.”

Chloe shook her head. “No, he _can’t_ come into work. He can’t leave the penthouse, and after he explained that to me, he won’t even take my calls.”

Michael hooked into the words Chloe was saying, and he laughed so hard he doubled over. Oh, he really had a banner night with his twin. Not only had he left Pete a blubbering mess, but now Sam was off kilter too. Score. “Oh, that’s interesting. Well, it’s all self-actualization, so it’s solvable. In theory. You just get him calmed down, and your gargoyle turns back into a debauched manwhore. That’s definitely not something I do. I don’t calm down fears. Literally can’t.”

Chloe pushed off from the wall and stalked around him. “You said something, and now he’s spiraling. So, what did you say?”

“Just brother things,” Michael replied, his tone low, and he could feel the fear pouring from her.

It was something appetizing, not like the waves from Ella that had made him nauseated or even the veritable buffet that had been Pete. No, this was good, not excellent, and it wasn’t the fear he’d have expected. Some part of him, after seeing what Sam had managed to do to himself, figured that the miracle had to be scared of the Devil. It was unsettling even for a being like himself to see what exactly Samael was or wasn’t now. But none of that was there, not a _hint_.

Maybe it was that miracle thing. Michael wasn’t sure, but he was surprised.

Not jealous, though.

He was never jealous of his twin.

But Chloe Decker was scared, afraid that Samael would turn cold on her, that he’d slip back eventually into being the King of Hell and brat with flippant disregard for humanity that she’d met years ago. She was scared that all he’d changed for her was fleeting, that his cold core still remained.

Good, she was smarter than Michael had initially thought.

“You get it,” he said conversationally. “Samael was an angel---and he was a crappy one, believe me. Takes a special kind of asshole to start a war and get some of your siblings killed and the ones who survived on your side turned to demons as a punishment. It takes something far more worse to punish souls in Hell and keep Lilim in line for billions of years. That’s a time frame your tiny mind cannot understand, not ever. So, if Samael is interested in punishing, if it’s deeply _personal_ , he still will. He _always_ will.” He laughed bitterly. “Either you can deal with that or you can’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she objected, but her tone was far quieter than before. Her fears now bubbling furiously around her.

“You never have to.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one does. I just _know_. Oh, and you might have put on a good front for Sammy, but you don’t like being a miracle, I can tell. You have to wonder how much of a pawn you are and how much you actually have any thoughts of your own. Well, to be fair, welcome to the club. Angels were made as Father’s tools and humans as Father’s playthings. You exist to fuck with the Devil---apparently literally now.”

The slap was fast for a human, but he was able to turn with the motion, so Chloe didn’t break her hand on his face. He did _not_ need a full-bore devil trying to attack him for a misunderstanding. Not at all.

“Shut up, Michael!”

“You came to see me. You came to _accuse_ me of psychological warfare against Sam, which usually I cop to, but we argued. Sam gave as good as he got after we finished with Pete. Whatever is going on with that _bat_ is his own fault. So maybe you two deal with it.” Michael laughed again and rubbed his cheek. “Maybe that’s the solution, miracle. Maybe you can just fuck the red out of him. Have you tried?”

Chloe shook her head and stalked to the door. “You’re horrible.”

“I’m not the monster locking himself in a tower right now, am I?”

He thought that had more than made his position on everything clear, that he’d landed the best blow. After all, Chloe Decker had some nerve coming to yell at a (still technically) archangel and at the Creation half of the Demiurge, no less. He was not her punching bag, just had enough fight leeched out of him for now not to infuriate his brothers.

He was not a doormat either.

And then Chloe Decker proved again that whether by her own force of personality or that something extra Dad had put in her or _both_ that she was not a mortal to be messed with.

“You’re not doing anything that much different, Michael. You’re as holed up. Yeah, Lucifer is cutting himself off from his family and friends and me, but there are people who miss him and are going to help him get over this particular flare up. Who’s in your corner? Who cares if you live or die at all? Is there a single person who cares about you anywhere?”

Michael snapped his mouth shut instantly. It flashed him back to Samael on Pete’s estate’s grounds. No, he had no pithy comment for that either.

Chloe nodded. “I thought so. Just don’t come to him again. Don’t do some side project with him. You need to do dirty work, do it yourself. That’s _definitely_ what you’re good at.”

The slam of the door echoed so loudly that it almost gave Michael a headache after she left. Almost.


	7. Chapter 7

Ella didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know what to think. One week ago, the prosecutor on Pete’s case had called her and informed her that she was no longer needed as a witness for the upcoming trial because Pete no longer seemed mentally competent. She’d quizzed them after and then gone half-numb on the phone listening to the lawyer explain everything about an attack on Pete while he was on house arrest, about the way he was reduced to nothing more about an incoherent mess and had been committed for ranting about angels and demons and the Devil. That he was wheelchair bound from the damage done to him because of amateur amputations from his unknown assailants. The prosecutor apologized for the changes, for the evaluations Pete would be going through and the high probability of a valid NGRI decree.

She’d nodded through all of that, and then she’d spent the next three days in bed with her sheets over her head, shivering. Ella had been too confused and scared to want to leave, but after two days of no-showing at work, she’d at least gone through the motions down at the station. Lucifer hadn’t been there, and Ella wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be or not.

Because Michael had asked, and she’d been unable to refuse him. But it had just been talking. After everything at the Fro-Yo place, Ella had convinced herself Lucifer’s even weirder brother had just been shooting the shit with her, that he had no actual power to hurt Pete. But now…in her four days back, well, Lucifer hadn’t come in. He was apparently sick, which had Chloe very aggravated and anxious. _Weird_. Lucifer was guilty of taking long leaves of absence, but she’d never known him to get sick.

But it happened to everyone. Right?

Assuming Lucifer was human, and Ella was scared that was no longer the case. She’d told herself for years that Lucifer was just a method actor who’d overdosed on the method. That the stabbing conga line and the feathers at the loft and that _The Mayan_ weren’t the weirdest things she’d ever seen. That when she’d met Michael that she hadn’t really felt all her phobias and pain surge through her.

That he was human too.

But now Pete was…well, his punishments…they were almost _inhuman_ in the scope of their brutality.

What was she supposed to do about that?

She wasn’t sure her walls could stay up any longer. Something had happened to Pete, which honestly great. It was exactly what she’d wanted and part of her was disgusted with herself for craving revenge. But a bigger part of her, the one that woke up gasping in her nightmares, could care less. Pete was suffering. Better yet, Pete could never get to her. That was what mattered the most.

But it wasn’t a good thought.

It couldn’t be something the Big Guy would be cool with.

Then again, she wasn’t sure if she was a good person anymore, if she’d ever been. It was all just too much, and part of this had to start with knowing for sure what Michael and Lucifer were…if she was just being more nuts than her usual or if she’d really asked _that_ Michael and, by extension, the Devil to torture someone for her sake.

Dear Big Guy, what did any of that say about her?

So, since Lucifer hadn’t returned to work yet and since Chloe had stopped really talking about him, just saying that he’d be back on the cases when he felt better, Ella hadn’t been able to get her answers. Ella had even gone to her favorite comics store a couple of times to try finding Michael but no dice, and she had _no clue_ how to find him.

But she knew where to find Luce, sick or not.

And he never ever locked his elevator anyway. She wasn’t sure if that was just ego or stupidity, but it was the same effect no matter the reason.

So, on Friday evening, a night she knew that Chloe had Trixie (cause Dan had a date for once and go Dan), she took herself to _Lux_ and snuck quickly into the elevator. Not like there was much security on it to start and certainly not enough for someone used to the stealth needed to boost cars and count cards on the sly.

When the car stopped and the doors spread wide, Ella blinked at the utter darkness of the penthouse. Oh, _rayos_ , maybe she’d misunderstood the whole vibe between Deckerstar, after all. Maybe “being sick” meant that Lucifer was doing another trip. He did like to go to Vegas a lot. Maybe he was checking in with Candy again, seeing how her club was doing too.

Except, Chloe seemed so genuinely worried about him, and even Trixie had spent an afternoon after she’d finished her homework at Dan’s desk drawing Lucifer a “Get Well” card. It seemed like this time Lucifer was actually sick.

For the first time.

“I? Hey, Lucifer…buddy? Can we talk?”

For long moments, there was no sound at all through the penthouse. Convinced she’d just done something completely stupid, Ella turned and headed back for the elevator. She’d already pressed the button when Lucifer’s voice echoed out from his bedroom. It sounded wrong, too deep and too raspy, and maybe the poor guy really was suffering from one hell of a cold after all.

“Miss Lopez? Now is assuredly _not_ a good time.”

She stilled and turned around toward his living room. Walking to the sofa, Ella sat down and looked at the dark expanse of his bedroom beyond his steps and the open doorway. Dude had a serious thing about doors.

“I guess it’s not, but I need to talk anyway.”

She swore she heard something sharp snap beyond the confines of the living room space, like a tarp unfurling or a sail. What the hell?

“I promise you that I am unable to converse with you currently. Has the Detective failed to explain that I’m not feeling like myself?”

“Yeah, she did, and even Trixie mentioned it,” Ella continued, and it was disorienting to speak to an empty room, but she needed this. She needed to understand anything, and since Pete…since those hands around her throat…since _all of it_ , nothing had made sense at all. “It can’t wait.”

“You need to leave, please,” the words were gruff and seemed to echo oddly from all corners of his bedroom at once.

“I know what happened to Pete. I heard he’s probably going to stay there, and I won’t have to testify cause there won’t be a trial. That’s fine, but…I looked up everything the police report listed happened to him. You and Michael did that, didn’t you?”

There was a long pause, a drawn-out silence so pronounced, that Ella stood again, assuming Lucifer just wouldn’t answer her.

“Right, great, see you when you’re over the sniffles, dude,” she said.

“Miss Lopez, wait,” and man was Lucifer’s cold bad or whatever was going on because his voice sounded so much deeper than usual. “I don’t lie.”

“No shit, but are you going to compartmentalize on me? Maybe bluff?” her voice shook with her anger even as tears threatened to flow. “I know you, and I know how you skate things, Luce. This time, you can’t. Not with me. Not after what Pete did. So, I just…did you and Michael hurt him?”

“Well, technically, Michael did not touch Pete. To be fair, quite a bit of the more insidious touches were Mazikeen’s. She was Hell’s best torturer once.”

Ella’s heart skipped a beat, and she had to remind herself that clinging to the hope that Lucifer was just a method actor was long gone. If she were honest with herself, it had been stripped from her the second his twin had stoked her fear so high, and she’d been left shaking in an ice cream shop.

She had to press on. So, Ella dug deeper. “But some of it? The broken bones? The peeled off skin? I…the castration?”

Another low rumble beyond the door and the weird snap of a tarp or _something_. “Yes, Ella. I broke my fair share of his bones and the flaying was on me as well. Maze had that other honor. Her work with that is better than my own, and Pete certainly earned it after all he’d done to you.”

She wanted to vomit because it was _her fault_. She’d known. A huge part of her had known when Michael had left that restaurant what he’d do or, at least, get accomplished. How Pete ended up was a fate fate he deserved, but she wasn’t supposed to be someone who wanted another person ruined.

Still, as bad as her sleeping had been over the last six months, since the phone call from the prosecutor, she’d been finally getting through the night. Could rest again. And she couldn’t be sorry for that.

If Lucifer hadn’t used her first name, the shock of all of it might have overwhelmed her. But, despite everything, the fact for the first time that her friend---he was still her friend, right---had said her given name was like a splash of cool water on her face.

That weird flapping sound again, and Lucifer sighed in the dark recesses of his room. “Are you going to leave now?”

“I thought you wanted me to.”

“What is it you want, Miss Lopez?”

“Is this that ‘desire’ thing? I thought you had to look me in the eye to do that!”

“It is, for now, an honest question and nothing more. If you want to leave after this confirmation, I expected as much would happen if it ever got back to you. I understand. I was wrong to do what I did, but he hurt you. He _got away with hurting you_ because I didn’t bloody well notice. But I could make him suffer. Maze, Michael and I all could.”

“You said he didn’t touch him.”

Another long sigh. “My twin’s skills are different than my own. Someone had to break Pete’s mind. That honor fell to him. It would be best if you left now.”

And despite everything, despite the utter horror of what he’d confessed to---of what she’d wanted deep down for him and Michael to do---Ella couldn’t leave things like this. It was time, and she had to work so hard, no matter what, to get the words out, even though in her own exhaustion, the words tumbled out in Spanish instead:

_“Eres el diablo?”_

Lucifer laughed, and it echoed through his room, again weird and multi-toned, and Ella couldn’t quite understand _how_ he was making that sound. “I am. I have never lied to you. I never lied to Daniel or the Detective either.”

“They know,” Ella replied. It was a statement of fact, like the sky was blue or water was wet or that Jar Jar Binks was the worst thing to ever happen to _Star Wars_. She was the only one who hadn’t either bought it or been shown proof. “They know for real what you are.”

“So do you, _hermanita_ ,” he added. “Are you fleeing yet? Most would.”

“I asked for this. Michael talked to me and I gave permission… _no_ , I wanted this so badly. This is my fault too, and the blood on your hands is because of me.”

“We all could have said no,” he corrected. “None of us wanted to refuse. We wanted Pete to have a preview of his eternity to come.”

“Is it mine?”

The flapping again, and she had no idea what was going on, but her heart beat heavily in her chest, so hard that Ella feared she might pass out. “No, Miss Lopez. I would never allow it, and you’re too good. Even my arsehole brother sees that in you, and he’s the other side’s judge…well, when not having an idiotic earthly tantrum as he has been of late.”

“How sick are you? I…what’s going on?” She stood up and took a few steps toward his room. “I just…I’m not crazy, am I?”

“No, but I…perhaps even further proof is not the best thing for you right now.”

“I need to know.”

There was silence again, and she’d never known Lucifer once to be so hesitant to talk. It was something both of them shared in common. But he sighed and that flapping---that snapping tarp sound was back. “Do be careful what you wish for, Miss Lopez. If you want to finish this conversation face to face, I can oblige. But do understand that no matter who I really am, no matter what I’ve just done for your sake, no matter how _brutal_ it was that I would never hurt you. Not ever.”

She nodded, and the ache in her chest was still there, the pain at knowing that she’d asked for something _awful_ and most of her couldn’t care less. “I get that. I know you, Luce…um…ifer. It’s okay.”

“Very well. Far be it from me to deny a request,” Lucifer replied, his voice still so very deep and different.

He came out then, and Ella tumbled back to the sofa. There was no other way to deal with the shock of it. She’d expected him to come out in Hugh Hefner style pajamas, to be a clammy, sniffling mess. But that wasn’t what she got. Before her was the Devil from scripture, from her long talks as a girl with her abuelita; the Devil who had been on a scary-ass wall hanging by her fifth-grade classroom at Catholic school.

Red, ravaged skin, burns so deep she was internally wincing at how deadly they were (or would have been on a human), crimson eyes that looked nothing like her friend, and wings.

Giant, bat-like crazy things that were the source of all the snapping noises as they settled behind him.

He didn’t move past his bottom step, and when Lucifer spoke, he kept his body completely still, just let his head move. “Miss Lopez, I am still very much a devil of my word. You’ve nothing to fear from me. I would _never_ hurt you.”

And she was shocked, true, but she wasn’t scare of him, even then.

Michael was terrifying…when she touched him, something awful curled outward from him. Maze told scary stories that Ella would have to deal with later, since they’d never been stories at all. But Lucifer was her friend. And even like this, she could read him more easily than she would have thought. The way he was too scared---yes, the Devil freaking brimming with _miedo_ \---to move and with his wings pressed so tightly to his back, as if he could make himself smaller somehow. So not possible.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.

“You tripped rather spectacularly,” he rumbled.

“Yeah, well, dude, you’re a shock, but being startled is tons different than being scared. I…does it hurt?”

“What?”

She tried not to tear up as she took inventory over his burns and wounds. “Your skin? I…is it always like this? Shit, can you do magic? This is some glamoring stuff, right?”

He quirked his head at her and seemed genuinely confused. “I…well technically, but I’m no great shakes at it. A rudimentary bit of telekinesis, and I can control how I look for humans, usually.”

“Oh, so this is what you look like off work hours?” And despite everything, her mind is running down a list of a million questions because everything is real and the Devil is standing right in front of her and he said he can move shit with his mind and it’s really overwhelming but cool too. “Wow, I had no idea. How long has Chloe know, and, oh, she went to _Rome_ , yikes! That explains like a ton. I’d have gone to Jamaica, myself.”

Lucifer’s eyes dimmed, and he blinked back at her. “This is not how I saw this conversation ever happening. Honestly, I thought I’d be more myself when and if we had it.”

She rocked back at that part. “Oh, so you were never going to tell me. Dude! Dan knows, and you weren’t even talking for like a year. I thought we were like family.”

Lucifer started to walk toward her but hesitated after one step. “Erm, is this alright? I don’t…I mean it. I would _never_ hurt you, no more than I’d hurt Chloe or Beatrice.”

“I know.” And, okay, her heart was still pounding but she was only human, and her instincts were running on overdrive. Still, the rational part of her wasn’t scared of him. Pete was a million times more terrifying for her. “It’s okay,” she said, patting the sofa next to her.

Lucifer finally walked to her, although his steps were slow and tentative. When he sat on the sofa, he picked the furthest corner from her. She let him have his space.

“You’re not running?”

“Was I supposed to?”

He sighed, and his voice was low and quiet when he continued. “Linda was catatonic for two weeks. Chloe did go to Rome and we were strained for months, to be quite honest.” Lucifer laughed as if the next bit was funny. “The Douche shot me.”

Ella jumped then and, despite the fact the diablo was sitting next to her, she scooted across the sofa to touch his arms and his chest. The skin was waxy and twisted and wrong, and it pained her to touch it because the friend she knew didn’t deserve that inflicted on him. Even now and despite what he had just done for her with Pete.

“I don’t understand?” Lucifer asked. “Miss Lopez, you don’t need to accost me so.”

“I…did it hurt? The bullet, I mean.”

“I’m the Devil,” he reminded. “Lead is not always a problem.”

“At _Lux_ though---”

“I’m no mortal,” he said, which still didn’t jive with watching the dude bleed out for the better part of a day, but Ella was far from a magic expert either.

“Okay,” she replied, scooting back from him, not sure if he wanted to be touched like this or not. Was it rude? Could she like offend the Devil? Usually, whatever she said or did tended to make Lucifer laugh harder, but Ella was confused about everything currently. “I just…I’m not running. I’m not even mad, at least not at you. God…oh crap!”

“Yes, and must we talk about Dad right now?”

She shoved the fact that the Big Guy was truly real alongside Maze being a demon. That was so much for now, and all she needed was to deal with her friend. “Yeah, okay, but I’m going to have tons of questions just about Him.”

“Yes, great, he’s oh so wonderful.”

Ella stilled in her enthusiasm. Lucifer’s eyes were dim, and his wings were drooping behind him. “I…you’re right. That was crappy, Lucifer. I’m sorry. I know you and your dad don’t get along. I’ll try to use different swear words.”

“It’s appreciated.” He winked at her. “Are you bothered by what happened with Pete? I confess I have never had a human take things so well before. The other shoe must drop some time.” He sounded so forlorn then with his words barely a whisper that she leaned forward and patted the back of one, massive hand, careful to avoid his claws.

_Shit, dude had claws._

And the flaying made a lot more sense now.

“I’m upset that I even asked for it. When I was with Michael, he knew what I really wanted, and I let him leave, knowing deep down he’d do it. Get revenge. I just…and now that I know, I’m glad. I freaking sleep better, dude! What does that say about me?”

Lucifer offered her a pained smile, and she winced a little at the sight of his rotten, yellowed teeth. Everything was so different about him, except his worries. She could read those well enough. Lucifer was always so concerned that Chloe wouldn’t like him enough, and now that made a ton more sense. Ella could see it here too. The Devil was _scared of her_. Not because Ella was intimidating or dangerous but just because she might leave forever.

“You’re very human, _hermanita_. You were hurt and scared and it needed to end. I blame myself for not interceding sooner. However, anyone would lash out---or fight back by proxy as it were---it’s a very mortal thing.”

“But in the Bible---”

“Yes, well, Dad’s side is conveniently edited,” Lucifer said, tone snippy. “You’re worried about turning the other cheek? About all my half-brother would say.”

“Yes,” and she wouldn’t press about Jesus either because Lucifer probably had a sore point with him too after the forty days in the desert and all of it. “Isn’t it wrong to get revenge?”

“It’s quite normal, and you didn’t do it. You wanted it, true, but there is such a thing as divine retribution.” Lucifer’s eyes flared red, so crimson that it almost hurt her to gaze at it. “With Pete, vengeance was mine sayeth the Host.” He sighed and his other hand was over hers, burned and ruined but still so gentle with her. “As you still clearly are, Miss Lopez, and I should have protected you too. I should have been better.”

“But I like what you did. That’s messed up. Am I evil?”

Lucifer dropped his hands and pulled away from her. “No, never. You are one of the brightest souls I have ever known, and that’s the truth. You know that it is.”

But she didn’t know how that it all could be true when she was happy about how much her friends and Michael had punished her attacker. “I read that Pete’s a screaming, crazy mess with no arms or legs or dick, and I’m _glad_ about that. That’s not good either. I…you did what I wanted, but I just can’t understand how a part of me wanted it, how a part of me isn’t even sorry now.”

Lucifer nodded stiffly. “Perhaps this is an unfair position to put you in. I did not want you to fear from Pete should he ever be paroled. Maze felt the same, and even my arse of a twin did. That’s…for demons and angels to agree on anything never happens. It says something very glowing about you that we all see how worthy you are.”

“But I don’t feel it!”

“No, but you’re allowed to want justice.”

“I know but I just…I thought I was a better person.”

His hand, such as it was, pressed back on her own. “You _are_.”

She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. “Maybe, but I…what position?”

Lucifer sighed and his wings twitched. “I cannot refuse you. Truth be told, I could not refuse Linda or the Detective or Beatrice either. If anyone ever touched you again, I would do this just as viciously as you like. I would _always_ do it.” He laughed then but there was no joy in it and then looked at the floor. “You have the Devil at your command, should you want him, and I would do anything to keep you safe and content.”

“That’s a lot of temptation.”

He sighed and stood then, turning toward his balcony to stare out the window. There was the snap of rustling wings and she gaped at the length of them, at the red, leathery webbing and the massive spikes down his back. “Yes, but I needed you to know, I suppose. That whatever you desire, if it is within my power, I would give you. You are better than almost any sister I’ve ever had, and I’ve a myriad of them.”

Ella stood then and walked to the balcony with him. It took a minute to maneuver her way around his huge wings. When she came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Ella glanced up into red eyes, so different from the brown ones she was used to. And these had been the ones brimming under the surface all along.

“I don’t want anything from you. We’re friends. Dude, we’re family. I just…no matter what happens, never go all holy mission on someone for me. Cause I might want it again, and I…it’s wrong.”

“An angel did sign off on it,” Lucifer objected as if it made what had happened to Pete right. Maybe in his mind it did. Ella wasn’t sure.

She reached up and, tentatively, touched the inner webbing of his wing, it was smooth to the touch, unlike the rest of his skin. His eyes brightened a little as she stroked it. Her mind still whirred between the faith side of her that had always felt this was real and the science side that wanted to know all the answers to every question immediately.

She settled on the third part of her, the wounded friend she was too.

“I just want to be what we were. I mean, okay, I know and that’s a lot, but I don’t want favors or avenging angels or _flaying_ ,” and she was proud of herself for saying that much and almost sounding convincing since, even now damn it, a satisfied part of her was glad for all that Lucifer, Maze, and Michael had done to Pete. “This is a lot. I get that. But we’re still just Lucifer and Ella, okay? I just want my friend. You don’t have to do any favors now. You never had to before.”

He nodded. “And you’re not afraid of me?”

“I’m scared of myself.”

“Miss Lopez---”

“I know you say I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m not who I thought I was, who I _want_ to be. But that’s about me, I think, and it’s not about you.” She dropped her hand and nudged his shoulder (well as high as she could reach) with her own. “So, _hermano_ , is this a new look thing now that I know? Is this the casual look at the penthouse or…”

“Sometimes slipping between the different sides of myself is not as easy as I wish it were. After everything with Pete, assuming my more pleasing side has been out of my power. It shall pass.” Although the nervous twitch of his wings made Ella less reassured.

“Okay, so, do you want to do anything? You have the best liquor in the city and a great home theater. I mean, I pick the movie and we chill? I…it’s hard to be home alone lately, buddy.”

Lucifer frowned down at her, as if he were confused. As if she’d started speaking Sanskrit or something crazy. “You want to hang out? When I’m like this?”

“Unless that makes you self-conscious?”

“It’s unpleasant, I’m more than aware. The Detective… _Chloe_ doesn’t mind this side of me either. I _mind_ it, but it is hard to shrug off currently so if you wish to hang out, then, yes, I suppose this is how it’ll be.”

Ella nodded and nudged him again. “Cool, cause the best favor you can give me, Luce, is being there, okay? Now,” she added, cracking her knuckles in front of her. “Do you want to go with cheesy dance movies or more _Fast and Furious_ stuff. We’re not through them yet!”

Lucifer gasped but with relief, as if he hadn’t expected her to stay. “A good spot of violence and some dancing; we’ll do one of each,” he replied, winking at her and turning back to his sofa. “Lead the way. After all, _hermanita_ , I’m more than happy to follow your directions.”

Ella smiled and started to the sofa, the whole time shoving that worry in the back of her mind away. She was still human, after all, and having the Devil on call for her dirty work was too tempting. Him following her directions was everything she was scared of.

And a power that Ella wasn’t sure she should have.


	8. Chapter 8

He was out at a little league game the next time he bumped into Ella Lopez or, more accurately, the next time she bumped into him. Michael was finding all the best places now to unleash his power in safe, small doses, to keep his sanity from being threatened by his own so-called gift sans an outlet. Michael still favored coffee shops with their crushed dreams and patrons who knew they’d never truly amount to anything.

That flavor of fear was quite rewarding.

But there was something to be said for the frustration of fathers trapped in their stifled, dull lives, of them trying to live through their little sluggers and knowing, deep down, that their sons were due for a life as mediocre as their own. Not quite as fun as the coffee shops, but better than the basic taste of the comic book shop. But he was sitting next to one especially worked up asshole who argued with the umpires continuously, whose sense of inferiority was oh so satisfying, when Ella Lopez sat down next to him.

He knew immediately, even without having to turn to face her, because he could still feel the fear churning through her. Michael knew that would happen. There was only so much hobbling Pete could do. Ella had been damaged severely, her sense of safety stripped from her forever, and that was not going to go away. If anything, the fact that she’d seen in herself her own need for revenge and her own instabilities staring back at her, probably made parts of her own fears worse.

But, as before, Michael was shocked by how acrid her fear was, how Ella’s phobias were aimed so sharply at herself.

“Chica, didn’t expect to see you here. Come to thank me?” He turned away from the over-excited little league father and focused all his unerring attention on her. She was better rested. That much he could tell with the dark circles gone from under her eyes and the sleekness back in her hair. The only thing that seemed a bit off from her usual perkiness was a cartoon t-shirt with a grey, frowning kitten talking about its 99 problems. “It’s overdue, by the way. It’s been close to six weeks since I helped you with that pesky Pete problem of yours.”

She shivered next to him, and Michael tried not to care. Really he did, but there was something so utterly wrong and unfair---thank you _Dad_ \---that his twin in all his monstrosity couldn’t scare her (and he was reading that much easily from her), but that he, _still_ an actual angel, had her knees trembling.

Ella Lopez was just a human.

He’d found her treatment unfair and gross, even by mortal standards. He’d stepped in due to the principle of the thing, and not at all cause Ella had shown him a small bit of kindness before she knew what he was.

Nope, not at all.

“Thank you.”

He blinked at her. “What? I was being sarcastic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dude, I know, but I already talked about this with Lucifer and Maze too. You were owed a thank you.”

“Took long enough,” he mumbled.

She frowned at him, her ponytail swinging behind her. “You serious?”

“Well, I got Samael on board, and he called in Maze.”

“Samael?”

“Lucifer’s actual name. He hates it, so I still use it.”

She surprised him when she laughed, even with all the fear of him bubbling through her. “You two are as bad about fighting as my brothers Ricardo and Jay.”

“Yes, human beef is the same as Biblical feuds. How could I have made that mistake,” he said drolly.

“Definitely!” she chirped.

After five minutes spent ignoring her, Michael hoped she’d leave. Apparently, no dice as Ella was studying him intently and not moving from her seat. “You said thank you. You’re good.”

She sighed and wrung her hands in her lap. “I’m not though, and you can feel that, can’t you?”

Michael studied her again, at brown eyes so limpid and deep that they were…well more interesting and intelligent that most humans. Sliding scale, but among the primates, Ella seemed better at least.

“Yes, which is admirable in its way. Most humans stay away from me on principle. You know what I am and have felt the extent of what I can do and still sit inches from me. I can admit I’m impressed. Most mortals would have just run for the hills.”

“I guess I’m not most mortals,” she admitted. “I…we need to talk.”

“I’m here, and I’ve still got an open ear,” he groused. _Really, and he’d been having such a good session at the ball field…_ “Shoot.”

“Here?”

“No one believes me anyway, and no one is gonna care. They just want little Timmy to hit the ball and not fuck up a play. So, yeah, what do you need? Pete’s pretty wrecked so I don’t see why there needs to be a repeat performance.”

“No, that wasn’t about him, although I was curious. I know what Maze and Lucifer did.” She frowned at him. “What did you make him scared of.”

Michael shook his head. “Rookie mistake and assumption. I don’t _make_ fears. I reveal them or amp them up. Sammy can’t make desires either. He just makes people confess their own. So, what I did was reveal what truly scared Pete and made him live with it on a loop.”

“And what was he scared of?”

Michael frowned back at her. “You know this probably isn’t going to be the fluffy bunny feel good reveal you want, chica. It’s brutal and efficient. That’s what I do.” He sighed and for the first time in a long time, hated the truth of his next words. “This is what I was _designed_ for. I was made to leave my siblings and mortals both shaking in fear, to turn the terror of our enemies against them on the battlefield eons ago when it was the Host against the Old Ones and worse. It’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy thing to get the details of.”

“Worse than Maze and her Lorena Bobbit routine?”

Michael snorted. “Amateur. Good, and he earned it, don’t get me wrong, but basic. More like a stone that shouldn’t go unturned. What I did was more invasive.”

“Then what?”

“He fears being weak because he is. He fears being hunted as thoroughly as he hunted women like you. For the rest of his miserable life, he will choke and suffer just as hard as he tried to choke you. Maybe it’s a few times a day he’ll gasp for air and feel hands around his neck, maybe it’s a hundred. I can’t even set the intervals, and I don’t want it predictable. No fun in that. But yes, Lopez, he’ll feel everything you felt in that house---in that moment---a thousand times as intense, and he will feel it every day till he dies. And then my brother and his demons will really have fun with him.”

Ella’s hands went to her throat before she dropped them again. “I…whoa.”

Michael nodded, unsure of what her reaction was. If she was shocked or even pleased by what he’d done. “Yes, so you’re welcome.”

She started to tear up, and Michael felt the quick spike of his own, real fear. He knew nothing of consequence about mortals. He didn’t know how to handle a crying one. He’d been shit back at the Silver City when Rae Rae had been upset either. No one came to fear incarnate for comfort.

It made very zero sense.

Ella’s eyes went from growing shiny to just crying outright then, her slim shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

Michael, despite his better judgment and guided by instinct, reached out to grab her shoulder. He rubbed it awkwardly. “Look, Pete was a shitty person. If he hadn’t been stopped by you first, he’d have killed a fuck ton more women, you know? He definitely doesn’t deserve tears now. He's gotten exactly what he karmically asked for. Uh, there-there?”

Ella startled when he tried to stroke a stray piece of hair back from her face. And he _felt_ it, the fear of him she had roiling through her gut, of how he’d made her feel in the ice cream shop. Michael scooted away from her instantly, and honestly, hadn’t felt as low in a long time, at least since Chloe had rejected him. Maybe even since Samael had ruined his right wing.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not good at comforting people. I figure Sam’s not all red and ugly almost two months out. You should talk to him.”

Ella frowned again and shocked him by patting his hand. He was floored still more when she left hers there, even as her heart hammered in her chest. What in Dad’s name was she even trying to prove?

“He’s better. Been back at work for a month. We have talked, a lot. I had so many questions and---”

“Oh,” he replied, pulling his right hand away with some effort and straightening the collar of his turtleneck. “I should have known. You’re not a Samael groupie, misread that. You’re the devout Catholic, so you’re a _Dad_ groupie. I get it; Sam hasn’t exactly been in heaven in eons. You wanted to grill me on it.”

Ella’s eyes widened and then she blinked back at him. “What? No. Well, if you want to, sometime that’d be cool, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, you’ve established, chica, about three reasons you’re not here for. What do you actually need? I’m a busy guy.”

She giggled a little. “Dude, you’re so not.”

“I _could_ be busy.”

“Yeah, no, not when you’re watching rando kids play baseball. They’re like 12, most of them don’t even hit it consistently. So, QED, you’ve got tons of free time.”

His irritation flared. Yes, that was a good reminder. There was a reason he didn’t hang out with mortals. They were annoying. Ella Lopez was _supremely_ annoying, except maybe there was an odd bit of beauty to her when she laughed, something pure and innocent in her joy. But, again, it was his kitten theory. Ella was too gullible and naïve. He just felt concerned about her the way a human would have about a duckling out in the middle of the street.

That made far more sense than anything else.

“Then, what is it you want?” he griped.

She was still terrified of him. He could feel that much and the fact that her fears and phobias radiated off her so readily was damn distracting. And yet, she needed him. Michael just wasn’t sure what for.

“I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I can feel that much.”

“For a while I thought that once Pete was hurt, I’d feel better. I do in a lot of ways. I sleep now, and I don’t have as many panic attacks. But it’s a different fear on me now. I talked with Lucifer about it, and I think he was trying to be nice, but he blew it off.”

Michael quirked his head at her and forced his walls down completely. He rarely did it, and Ella broadcasted so well, but he was missing something. It hurt all over, made him double in pain at the acrid bile in his throat, the pounding of his chest, and the feel of first hands around his throat---ones as strong relatively speaking for him as Pete’s had been on Ella’s---but that changed fast.

Instead, it was something different.

A room of grey walls and thick leather straps tying him down to a gurney. The weird feeling of a thick rubber mouth guard between his teeth and the way it scraped his gums. Wheeling down a hall with fluorescents overhead and terror, so much, that Michael was positive he hadn’t felt that since the fucking Crusades.

And it wasn’t at him or at Pete or at her job.

No. Ella was most terrified of herself.

He forced his walls back up then and broke the connection, but it still took a few minutes for him to catch his breath. Michael blamed the loss of his wings for that. He was probably weaker in some ways and more mortal than he’d like to admit.

When he could get air into his lungs, Michael spoke. “You’re terrified of yourself.”

She nodded. “It’s worse because I liked that you hurt Pete. I tried to tell myself after um our not-a-date.”

“So not that. I was just helping you out,” he added.

“Right, okay, the ice cream thing. Anyway, I told myself you were mostly crazy and method like I thought Lucifer was, but deep down I could _feel_ what you were and what you’d done to me. I wanted you to do that to Pete, and I got my wish.”

“And you’re welcome,” Michael replied.

“But I shouldn’t like it.”

“I’m an archangel, mostly. I sat at Father’s right hand for years. I can promise you; Pete had it coming.”

“Lucifer said that too.”

“Must be true, chica.”

Ella frowned at him again. “But something is _wrong_ with me. I know. Something has always been wrong with me. I’m a bad person and you know that I am.”

“No, I said that Pete wasn’t wrong one hundred percent. There’s a type of darkness in you, but not something vicious. You don’t want to hurt others. I can tell even now Pete is a one-off.”

“But you said I had darkness.”

“Yeah, well,” he snorted. “Join the fucking club, Lopez. I’ll get you an honorary turtleneck. We get drunk at bad bars every other Wednesday. What do you want me to say?”

She was shivering again, and he hated himself for being so blunt with her. “But you knew. You knew I’d come looking for your eventually, that even getting Pete out of my life forever…that it wouldn’t fix me. I…something’s _wrong_ with me.”

Michael couldn’t quite deny that. For all her cartoon shirts and sunny disposition, for her being the closest thing he’d ever met to a puppy in human form, she was still drowning, and it was all wrapped up in fear for herself.

 _Of herself_.

“Yes, you’re not like other humans I’ve met. At least, you’re more terrified than most I’ve had the chance to read. I'm not sure why myself. I’m sorry about that. Dad’s designs are kind of crappy, maybe he shouldn’t have taken Sunday off. I don’t know, but you aren’t a bad or evil person, just dinged up. That’s allowed, right? What else is Chucky’s mom for if not to fix broken humans all day. Ooh, go to her!”

“It’s different though. I’ve seen shrinks. I never want to again. I just…I’m scared all the time. I’ve been running from all my fears since I was eight years old, and I _can’t_ anymore.”

“And I come in where now?” he said, feigning glancing at his watch, but he didn’t really feel it.

Ella was the only person he’d interacted with more than once since he’d been punished. She knew what he was---had felt all he could do---and still wanted to see him at all. But he was unsure how he could help her.

She looked up at him again, and did it seem warmer on the ball field than it had earlier? Did that even make sense? The sun was setting so it should be cooler. “You understand fear better than any being alive, right?”

He nodded, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter than he wanted, didn’t have the usual sarcasm he struggled for. “Yes. I’m the expert, and it sucks, believe me.”

“Then I need someone who can help me with fear, Michael. And that’s you.”

“Or you know, you can feel drugs, right? You get a shrink, get some Valium, and you’re good to go!”

“Can you help me?”

“I’m not sure exactly what’s going on with you yet, so I couldn’t be sure, no.”

“Would you?”

He shook his head and jammed his bad hand back in his sport coat pocket. “You don’t want my help, Lopez. No one ever does. Go back to your little Scooby Gang running out of _Lux_ and let Samael make you feel better. That’s what living desire does. It comforts in its own way.”

“I don’t want comfort. I want to understand and get rid of how I feel. It’s been haunting me for almost thirty years, and I don’t want to bury it. I need to learn about it.”

“Fear isn’t science, chica.”

“But you can help. I know you can. Lucifer…he wants to move on and pretend that I’m who I was before Pete and that what you all did for me makes it all even. It doesn’t. I need someone who can understand…who _sees_ me for all that I am. Okay?”

Michael struggled to his feet and off the bleachers. He was hurrying and almost stumbled and fuck you too, Sam, for leaving his right side weak and his foot dragging. But he was halfway across the field and to the concession stand before Ella, with her tiny steps, caught up with him.

She grabbed him, and he felt it again, her utter terror at his presence, but she held him anyway. “Stop, please! _No me dejes_.”

“I don’t speak everything. That’s _Sam_. I keep telling you and let me make it clear. _Lucifer_ is the best choice for helping humans. He likes you. You’re like his favorite pets. I’m no good with humans at all.”

She still held him and, okay, maybe Michael allowed it, but no one ever touched him. And no one held him after they _knew_ what he truly was.

“I’m not a pet!” Ella objected.

“Well, from my perspective you’re like a well-trained chimpanzee. Cute, sure. Maybe I want you to wear a circus outfit and ride on a unicycle great. But you’re not exactly my equal either, Lopez.”

“Fine,” she said, gripping him more tightly. “But I need you. You saw what was wrong with me when no one else did. You cared when my friends were too busy and---”

Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t care about anyone.’

“I think that’s a lie.”

“Well, I do that enough. I mean,” he said, finally pulling away from her but not toward the bus stop like he should have done. “I’m not Samael. I don’t give a crap about Dad’s ant farm. I don’t have warm fuzzy feelings for humans. I mean, I don’t kill you or hurt you cause Dad would be pissed. That’s about it. And I lie like a rug. You can’t trust me. So, really, Sam’s the guy you want.” He sighed and hunched his shoulders a little. “He’s the one they always _want_.”

Ella shook her head again and threaded her fingers through those of his left hand, even as heart kept hammering. “But you see me, and Lucifer sees an ideal version of me, this little sister he never had.”

Michael snorted. “Oh, we have a metric ton of sisters. Mom and Dad were always very frisky.”

Ella gaped at him but didn’t loosen her grip. “There’s a goddess?”

“Too long a story for now,” Michael admitted.

And why was this human so grabby? They never were. Yeah, she wanted something from him, but she didn’t have to keep _touching_. It felt almost good, and that was throwing him off his game. He was the Sword of God (sort of), she was the human, and he should be able to blow her off easily.

“Okay then,” Ella said, agreeing to skip over that too. “But I’m not, not really. You know what I’m dealing with---”

“Well I don’t want to. I just can’t turn what I do off!”

“And I need that,” she continued. “Please, I feel like I’m going crazy, and I need help. I mean, ‘Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil…’ That’s still true, right?”

“After a fashion, but I haven’t been exactly a gifted warrior in millennia, Lopez. I---”

“But you helped before.”

“Yes.”

“And you helped me with Pete.”

“I did.”

She studied him then, her neck craning to look him in the eyes directly. “Why?”

“Same reason a human doesn’t want to see another human kick a puppy. It was gross. It had to be rectified, such as it could be.”

“It’s not just that. I can tell.”

Michael yanked his hand back from her. “Well, you’re wrong. That’s all this is. I did the one favor of my decade. I’m out of them. Talk to Sam or Linda or your priest. I’m good now, chica. Have a nice life,” he turned and started hobbling in earnest to the bus stop.

“You’re scared!”

Oh, so now she presumed in all her mortal knowledge to have insight into him? How dare she.

He rounded on her. “I’m not scared of anything. I elicit fear, feed on it, and I never feel it myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “But you are. I _know_. You don’t think I can handle being near you for a long time. You and I both know that, yeah, I’m definitely feeling the _miedo_ around you, but I’m still here.”

“For now,” he muttered.

“But you’re scared I’ll just leave even if we strike a deal. I won’t. I want this to stop. I don’t want to be scared of myself anymore. I need you for that, and we both know it.”

“And I can’t help you with fear. I just bring it out sharper. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“But you want to help me, don’t you?”

He rubbed at his forehead again. Oddly, it came back slick with sweat. He wasn’t nervous around one mortal. He was _not_. “I do.”

Ella walked up to him and took his bad hand in both of hers. “Then, I know favors are Lucifer’s thing, but I can at least do a trade. I dunno if seeing it like therapy and paying for sessions works or if you’d like to trade something else. But if I get help out of the deal, then you should too. So, what do you want?”

His eyes widened. This did it. Ella Lopez was officially the most confusing human he’d ever met.

He wasn’t sure if anyone in history---even Sam---had asked him what he desired. Michael was pretty sure no one had ever cared. Technically, if Lopez didn’t need something from him, she probably wouldn’t either.

So, that was quite the quid pro quo and the question, wasn’t it?

What did he want?

“I…”

“Come on. Everyone wants something, even The Great Judge, am I right?”

Michael sighed. It was an old epithet, but a good one. Once he had been truly righteous; now, he was a mess. “Lessons.”

She blinked but didn’t drop his hand. “What?”

“Did I stutter, Lopez?” He barked out more gruffly than he wanted to. Old habits died hard. “Lessons. Amenadiel and Samael keep telling me how great humans are. Personally, I’m not seeing it. So, I want you to teach me about your species. I’m stuck on earth for the foreseeable future, might as well try and adapt. So, I’ll do whatever it is you think I can for your fear but no promises.”

“Understood.”

“And you make the case for the human race. Tell me why you’re any damn good. Because, honestly, I wasn’t kidding about you idiots basically being Dad’s ant farm. I don’t get the appeal.”

She scowled at him even as she shook his hand. “Deal, dude.”

Finally, Ella drew her hand away, and Michael tried not to think about why that left him bereft.

“Can we start on Friday? It’s my day off, I mean, unless you’re busy?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the pretense. We both know I’m never busy. Friday’s great. We’ll meet at one at that stupid yogurt place you like, but no sundaes. They’re too expensive. It’s kind of insane.”

“Cool, it’s a date, then.” Ella blushed, probably realizing how that sounded. “Um, you know what I mean. Anything you want to start with for humans?”

“You’re the teacher so you pick what you think I’ll care about.”

“Cool! I have just the place to start. I…” she hesitated then, even though their business was concluded. He wasn’t sure why she was staying, but he found he didn’t mind either. “…I think you’re wrong, you know?”

“That I probably can’t help you? Oh, I _know_ I’m right, but I’ll humor you cause at least you’re not boring.”

“Your personal chimp on a trike, right?”

He looked down at his loafers. “Okay, so that was maybe an extra asshole thing to say, even above my usual. Also, I said ‘unicycle,’ totally different.”

She slapped him then and Michael rolled with the motion so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Samael collected the ballsiest human women to him. Chloe and Ella hit angels, and Linda was a damn tiger mother.

“I’m not a monkey!” She objected.

“Well, from an angelic perspective…” he stumbled in his joked after considering her glare. “…no, Ella, I don’t see you like that, but don’t think I extend courtesy that to every one of your kind because I don’t.”

She snorted. “Glad I make the cut.”

He shrugged. “Friday, right?”

“Yeah, exactly. You know, people don’t always just want to see Lucifer.”

“Oh, it’s the story of my very long, very fucked up life, chica. Everyone from God on down even _after_ the Rebellion loves Samael best. I’m the older twin but the defective model. Dad took that extra two minutes and really perfected it with Sam. Wanted? By anyone? I’ve never been that in my life.”

Ella’s eyes were a bit shiny then, and he did _not_ need the pity of a mortal. He did not. “Well, for now, even if I have ulterior motives---”

“Clearly.”

“For now, dude, I want you more, okay? I won’t forget that you noticed how I was falling and that you did care. I won’t ever forget that I can sleep at night, and that it’s because of you. I just…I have four brothers.”

“Yes, that’s exactly like the Host.”

“And they always want to be dad’s favorite. It’s totally normal sibling stuff, even if you’re an angel. I just…people can like you too.”

Michael shook his head. “Well, Lopez, you’d certainly be the first.” He gave her a curt nod. “Until Friday then?”

“Totally, you’re gonna love human lessons with me!”

He groaned as he turned and made his way to the bus station. Maybe there was something _other_ about Ella, too. He was probably wrong, but a human woman shouldn’t have been able to railroad him so thoroughly. Maybe she was part fae for all he knew or perhaps she had a bit of ancient Mayan deity in her. _Something_. Because he was not a helpful guy, and now he’d somehow been roped into being her fear guru.

Yeah good luck with that.

Then again, for all his grousing, as Michael stepped onto his bus, he also couldn’t quite suppress the slight flutter in his stomach---a type of fear and anxiety he had never felt before for himself. How weird.

Ella Lopez was quite the puzzle, and for all her annoying habits, Michael might actually have some fun figuring her out.


End file.
